Beyond the Heavens
by L Zaza
Summary: A new threat from an unlikely source faces the newly minted Command team of Starbuck, Apollo, and Commander Mark Dayton, as the Covert Operations Ship, Endeavour, begins her shakedown cruise. Fifth in the Empyrean Series. Complete.
1. Prologue

Beyond the Heavens

An Empyrean Story

By Lisa Zaza

Prologue

From Eirys' Journal:

It has been recorded in the ancient tome, the _Telling_, a portion of the lore within reputed to be bequeathed unto my ancient ancestors by the Mystics, that we are not alone. The realm of Morlais, that has been our world for over eight millennia, is only but a small piece of the Infinite. There are those Beings, such as the Mystics, which can traverse between realms, and there are those planet-bound Beings, such as myself, which cannot. It is expressly forbidden in their laws.

Or so it is written.

I am Eirys, a Sorceress of the once powerful Angylion Court, ruled by King Byrne, and on his deathbed, Princes Glynn and Llewelyn. Perhaps my elders were right when they told me that I lacked the caution and respect for the Mystics that a favoured one, such as myself, should exercise. That to dare to question their authority was a brazen declaration of both my insolence and disrespect, but to dare to question their very existence was blasphemy. Ever since I was a child, I had a tendency to ask too many questions that were seemingly without answers, at least answers that I deemed acceptable to my pragmatic sensibilities, an unusual quality, as you can imagine, in a Sorceress-apprentice. Often I was met with a strained silence or avoidance by my elders, which merely piqued my interest even more. I dared to delve into those legends within the _Telling_ and other ancient scriptures that others avoided due to fear, lack of understanding, or even limited access to their content. Indeed, it was my search for the Doublewalkers that led my people to their ruin.

Doublewalkers were recounted to exist in another dimension, their lives running concurrent to ours. When an Angylion was born in Morlais, a kindred spirit—their Doublewalker—began life anew in another world. Our lifelines were described as being irrevocably entwined with a world far beyond our tangible reach, or our waking understanding, if I translated the nebulous and often cryptic words of the _Telling_ correctly. And the restorative powers of a Doublewalker's lifeblood, so said these ancient words, could save an Angylion, although the script was unclear on how much was required.

When King Byrne was stricken ill, the most sagacious of the Healers could not cure our mighty sovereign. Delving into the writings of the _Telling_, desperate for a cure, I took it upon myself to penetrate the Holy Sanctum, the chamber wherein resides the altar of Mt. Cadoc, a sacred site where kings had been crowned, and buried, for generations. High on a mighty cairn, covering the burial site of our first Sovereign, King Cadoc, and watching over the ceremonial rites of the Angylions for eight thousand years, was the Oculus. Forbidden to be handled by all but the most senior of Court sorcerers, I had never actually laid eyes on this ancient globe, but my sacred text declared it was a beautiful and unique treasure, made of gilded wrought iron, with the shape of an eye cast into its centre.

The Oculus held the key.

The_ Telling _proclaimed that by casting the proper spell, and by holding the Oculus and harnessing its powers, that the passageway between our world and that of the Doublewalkers could be opened. In secret, I retrieved the ancient treasure, which, though surprisingly heavy, fit into the palm of one hand. Standing upon the sanctified ground of Mt. Cadoc, I cast a spell uttering the ancient dialect of my ancestors while I gazed into the centred eye of the orb. Caught up in its magic, I found myself drawn in, gasping in wonderment as I looked into an endless starscape, a sky so vastly different from our own. The truth within was revealed to me, as I saw not only King Byrne's Doublewalker, but also those of his sons, Princes Glynn and Llewelyn. But as I began to reach out, and beckon them to me, a detestable laugh filled my senses, and an ancient Mystic appeared before me, demanding that I return the Oculus to him, and take him to my King.

Well, a Sorceress apprentice doesn't get as far along in her studies as I, without learning a few useful parlour tricks. I evaded the Mystic, managing to retain the Oculus, and fled to my Master, admitting all I had done. But by the time we reached the castle, the Mystic had already arrived, and was commanding that we cede to his ultimate dominion, as was our destiny. He claimed that as a people, we had lost our faith and our respect for the Mystics, and would be punished severely, if we did not bow down now and declare our devotion before this Being that called himself Iblis, as well as return the Oculus. He claimed it had left a hole between dimensions, leading into the Nonentity. Just the mere mention of this vacuous abyss, struck terror into the hearts of all present.

It had been so long in our history since a Mystic had appeared, that I was not the only one who looked upon them largely as folklore. Bards had recited verses, lore had been written, songs had been sung, but the seeds of doubt had also been planted. King Byrne refused to cede dominion to any Being, Glynn and Llewelyn at his side.

It could not have come at a worse time, but King Byrne's fierce light burnt out, as he spat his final words at the Mystic. In the wake of his death, his sons stood fast, ordering the Mystic, Iblis, to leave. In return, the Being raised his hand, striking them both dead, and demanding once again that the Oculus be returned to him. If it were not, such a scourge would be cast upon our people that the Angylions would plummet into an age of darkness from which they would never return.

He declared it was written so in the _Tellings_.

The Elders convened, and it was discovered that the prophecy of which Iblis spoke was not quite accurate. While a period of darkness was inevitable, that "_when the uncrowned Kings rise again, the souls of Morlais will be freed_".

We didn't know the significance of that until much later.

Furthermore, once the princes were examined it was discovered that within the rapidly cooling bodies of Glynn and Llewelyn, a life force still existed. Iblis might have "killed" them in a crude sense, but they were not "dead" in the metaphysical sense of the word. Apparently, he didn't have that power. Somewhere within the learned teachings of the _Tellings_, and with the power of the Oculus, we would find a way to raise our young kings, and save Morlais.

Once again, the Mystic was sent away, and this time the entire kingdom felt his anger as the heavens boomed their incense, and lightening fired across a sky that until then had been fair.

As the sun set that night, obscured by choking clouds and shrieking winds, a horrible scream from the Heavens and a rumbling from Mt. Cadoc proclaimed the beginning of the end. An endless legion of lifeless Beings, each with a single undulating red eye, marched from the Nonentity, bent on the destruction of our civilization. Beneath the flag of our kings, our legions met them in combat, sword against sword, and availed themselves well, soon discovering through determination and prowess that even lifeless Beings could be killed. Truthfully, the Angylions as a race were powerful, strong, and proud, and there were no better warriors in the universe.

Then Iblis struck again.

Abruptly, the spiritless Beings began shooting deadly rays of light. Our legions began to drop en masse. With malignant mutterings and the careless wave of a hand, Iblis then transformed an entire race of glorious Angylions, into troll-like Odreds. We were quickly subdued, and our entire Race enslaved to serve these Beings from the Nonentity called Cylons. The Oculus was hidden away, deep with the endless labyrinths beneath the castle, its location known only by myself, for I was charged with its care, as its Keeper. I would die before I betrayed its secrets, or let its limitless powers fall into the wrong hands. Iblis disappeared soon after, apparently bored by our defiance, leaving the Cylons in place.

And so ten years have passed, our princes lying in waiting, entombed on Mt. Cadoc, sleeping their death-like sleep. As Odreds we toil in the ever expanding open pit mines that have erased any sign that this was once a green and fertile valley, while the Cylons rape our world for its resources, while repairing a massive vessel that somehow brought them here from the Nonentity. We have seen nothing of its ilk, for it has no prow, nor oars, nor sails. It is like some vision from the Underworld, and indeed, most Angylions never imagined a day where we would travel beyond our own blue skies, yet, say the Cylons, it can do just that. Every day we get closer to the vessel's completion, yet I know in my heart, that their departure will not mean our freedom, but instead the gradual enslavement of any other sentient Beings that coexist on our planet, and indeed, beyond it.

Ten years of enslavement. Ten years of pouring over the _Tellings _and other ancient scriptures I have unearthed in the archives, and discovering more about our history and just how much has been covered up by the generations that came before mine. Ten years of sneaking away to experiment with the Oculus. It is time to raise the kings, restore the Angylions, and to destroy the Cylons, and their horrid, fearsome vessel, for all time. The survival of our planet, and possibly others beyond it, depend on it.

I will stop at nothing.

_Eirys, Angylion Sorceress and Keeper of the Oculus_

**Meanwhile, somewhere in the Infinite . . .**

Forged metal struck metal, causing sparks to fly as the clang of battling swords echoed through the _Endeavour_'s Fitness Centre. This part of the ship—once used to "store" hundreds of centurions between deployments, either to ground assault missions or as relief pilots—had been cleared, and then partitioned off into several smaller compartments. The male enlisted barracks, second galley, back-up air filtration units, female enlisted barracks, and the OC took up the rest of it. Mark Dayton grinned maniacally, as he and Starbuck came together, their weapons locked in a clash of wills, grey eyes boring into blue.

"I'm stronger, old man!" grunted Starbuck, grip tight on his blade.

"Smell isn't everything, _Bilge Breath_!" Dayton shot back. Starbuck hissed, and pressed forward. Then with a shout of aggression and a mighty push, Dayton half-turned his upper body, and shoved Starbuck's blade up. Using his knee to ram him in the gut, the Earthman pushed him violently away, launching the younger man back a metron. Starbuck nearly lost his balance, his feet skidding on the deck, and his lips curled back over his teeth in something resembling a snarl, as he mentally and physically regrouped, reassessing his opponent in a heartbeat, before he lunged forward again.

_Oh, to be that young again._

"You ever try this?" Apollo asked Ryan, standing a few discreet metrons to one side.

"Do I _look_ like an idiot?" replied Ryan.

Apollo looked him up and down pointedly, taking in the loud floral shirt, the cut-off shorts, and the sandals.

"On second thought, don't answer that," Ryan quipped with a grin. "Hell no, I never tried this. My heroes as a kid were Bob and Doug McKenzie, not Conan The Barbarian. Besides, it's too bloody early in the day for this kind of strenuous exercise. Half the ship's still asleep."

"Then why did you come?" Apollo asked.

"I'm among the other half that aren't," Ryan shrugged. "And the mess isn't open yet."

Dayton moved forward, bringing his own blade, similar in style to the Roman _spatha, _but with a longer hilt, up to chest level and swinging it horizontally, blocking Starbuck's attack, holding his ground as he measured the kid's form. It had started as a form of physical therapy, Dayton persistently cajoling Starbuck that he needed to do _something_ to get his right shoulder strong again. Not only that, but Dayton needed an outlet to let off some steam now and then, before the rigours of command made him blow his top, and he ended up squashing Malus into something resembling an Electrolux vacuum cleaner. And of course, four of those antique swords that Sire Dracus had once owned had miraculously ended up in Dayton's possession, courtesy of a certain conman_,_ that would remain unnamed. Dayton didn't have the heart to just hang them on the wall, when such fine workmanship cried out to be _used_.

"Come on, _Whipped Froth_, is that all you've got?" Dayton needled his opponent, as the sweat tricked down his forehead. Starbuck's hair was likewise plastered to his head with moisture. "My _mother_ could take you . . . while hanging out the laundry at the same time."

"Strangely enough, I don't want to be _taken_ by your mother, Dayton," Starbuck returned breathlessly. "And keep her fetishes to yourself, old man. I'd really rather not know."

"Hey, Mother Dayton did inspiring things with clothes pegs, or so I heard," called out Ryan with a laugh.

"I'll peg _you_, if you don't stop badmouthing my mother!" retorted Dayton.

"Hey, are we here to talk or fight?" Apollo inserted, awaiting his own turn. Like Dayton and Starbuck, he was "dressed" in protective gear made of rubber and cloth padding, overlaid with armour stripped from some of the wrecked centurions. Gloves, helmets, and shoes from the Triad Court completed the array.

"Does it have to be one or the other?" Starbuck returned.

It hadn't taken much in the earlier encounters with the longsword to get a rise out of Starbuck, making him lose his concentration and form the instant the Earthman was under his skin. It was a tactical necessity, and Dayton was a master at insulting and distracting his opponent, giving the Earthman the advantage time and time again, despite his greater age. Those skirmishes inevitably ended with Starbuck, who had lacked both skill and self-control, figuratively "dying". But to give him credit, the young warrior was getting amazingly adept at controlling his emotions during battle, refuting a certain med tech's claim that he would never grow up.

Starbuck pressed forward, the sweat running from his brow, and a scowl etched on his features, his teeth clenched. The kid always had a surge of energy just before his shoulder started aching just that little bit beyond tolerance. It was as though he was hoping to finish the fight, before he knew it would finish him. Dayton easily blocked the blows, letting Starbuck drive him backwards, knowing that the attack was tiring the other man to the point where he would make a mistake. His endurance _had_ improved impressively, no question, but Dayton knew damn well that Starbuck would be feeling the effects tonight. While his upper body strength had improved significantly from the exercise, the prolonged side affects of a Cylon pulse laser cutting the Colonial Warrior down on Planet 'P' had left Starbuck with residual damage that didn't seem to be getting any better.

"You're getting sloppy, _Steamed Milk_." Dayton taunted him, as he felt each successive blow decrease in intensity, and instinctively knew that the kid was just about out of gas. He slapped the last thrust aside scornfully, using the chain mail gauntlet he'd had fashioned. "You done, kid?" he asked, considering his young study.

"Are you conceding, Dayton?" Starbuck puffed unexpectedly, the fingers of his right hand flexing slightly around the hilt of his weapon—an _Excalibur_-type blade that was just under three feet long—which generally indicated he'd lost all sensation in that region.

"Me?" Dayton laughed. "You're all done in, _Vanilla Latte_."

" . . . Because if you're_ not _conceding, then you'd . . . you'd better _put up your dukes_," Starbuck continued heatedly in English, his Colonial accent sounding mysteriously European, as he lunged forward sloppily once again.

"Go, Starbuck!" Ryan laughed aloud.

Dayton chuckled, easily blocking each blow, more by rote than with any real effort. When Starbuck attacked again, he blocked the other's blade, then spun to the side, letting the Viper pilot's blade slide off of his, then shoving mightily. Starbuck skidded away once more. With a snarl of self-disgust, the younger man shook his head, and wobbled slightly, as if he might topple onto his face at any moment.

"Is Ryan trying to teach you English again, _Barista Brain_? Or whatever barbarian dialect they speak up there in Loon Land. Because _putting up your dukes_ is . . . "

_ "__Ah!__"_shouted Starbuck, suddenly renewing his attack with lightening fast speed. The tip of his weapon struck Dayton directly in the middle of his right forearm, and sang downwards, to catch the hilt of Dayton's _spatha. _It flew from his grasp, to half-spin off the point of Starbuck's own sword.

Dayton's sword clattered to the deck, and he stood there for a moment with his mouth agape and his hand conspicuously empty.

"Holy shi . . ."

Starbuck grinned that thousand mega-watt smile that could heat a small country, as he stepped forward and jauntily patted Dayton on the cheek. He looked so goddamned pleased with himself that at any minute he would start crowing . . .

"A fistfight. Yeah, I know," Starbuck admitted, not quite chuckling, but almost. Near enough.

"You . . . you _snookered_ me!" Dayton roared indignantly, but inside he was swelling with pride that his young apprentice had actually disarmed him, by first making him believe he was tiring, and then distracting him with his novice and incorrect English. He laughed aloud, slapping Starbuck on the shoulder. "Nice, kid. You must have had a hell of a teacher."

"The teacher _from_ _Hell_, actually," Starbuck returned fondly, glancing at Apollo with a satisfied smirk. "The standard is set, buddy. Your turn." He moved to hand his sword over to the other, but Apollo shook his head, hefting a Cylon centurion sword instead.

Apollo nodded, grim determination on his features as he strode forward to meet Dayton. "Just a short match, though. I need to go see Boxey before we ship out."

"Knock 'em dead!" grinned Ryan.

"Hey! At least let me catch my breath, I'm not getting any younger, you know!" Dayton protested.

"Take all the time you need, Commander," Apollo grinned. "Earth isn't exactly around the corner."

"Yeah, but we are planning a shakedown cruise today, and the last I heard, you three are the ones supposed to be making the final preparations," Ryan pointed out in a rare moment of responsibility.

"Party pooper," Dayton sniffed, lifting his sword once again. "C'mon Apollo, let's see what you've got."

**On the _Malocchio_ Freighter . . . **

An evanescence seemed to surround the Empyrean Necromancer's crystalline ball, making the very air tingle about her fingers, as she held her hands lightly above the orb. With eyes closed, she looked within the swirling mass of energy that revealed all, but in messages so cryptic, it could drive a woman a little barmy. Slowly, Ama stood back, opening the span of her hands and watching the aura of energy expand until it was the size of a man . . . or a door.

Slowly from within the aura, a shape began to slowly become visible. Becoming gradually more solid and real, the form of a woman began to materialize, then solidify, her glowing white robes swirling around her, and long, flaxen hair flowing down her shoulders, well past her waist. Her features were delicate, and her eyes appeared to glow from within, with a spectrum of colours that could only be supernatural. Overall, she was simply breathtaking. A beauty so radiant and startling, it could only mean one thing . . . She raised her hand slowly, reaching out towards the necromancer, summoning her forward.

"_Triquetra_ . . ." Ama murmured. She drew a deep breath, harnessing all her strength and energy, and letting her own life's force filter into the other's. Probing. Two swirling masses of energy connected, intermingling, testing, searching, vying for position. Like firestorm, ephemeral images shot through her, revealing glimpses of images long past from another world, interspersed with peeks of a realm devoid of joy and hope, and cloaked in despair. Evil reigned supreme. Ama jolted back in horror, raising her hands threateningly. The crystal orb was knocked from its stand, rolling onto the floor, and Ama let out a choking gasp. She locked eyes with the apparition before her, and roared protectively, "Be gone with you, Hag! Be gone!"


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Aboard the Colonial dreadnought _Endeavour_, Gamma Bay was abuzz with activity. Throughout the cavernous bay, full-fledged techs, trainees, flight crew, hangar crew, and cadets were all working on Hybrid fighters or parts thereof, creating a din that made Commander Mark Dayton want to plug his ears, yet at the same time filled him with excitement, anticipation, and a certain level of pride. At this rate, the _Endeavour_—a refitted Abaddon-class Cylon Base Ship turned Colonial Covert Operations Ship—would be embarking on her shakedown cruise later that day, as he had predicted almost three sectars ago, when they had come up with this grandiose scheme.

As planned, the decrepit _Aptian_ Freighter—ramshackle home to over six-hundred people since fleeing the Colonies—had finally been scrapped, her passengers redistributed to the Seniors and Orphan Ships, while the isolated children and seniors had been reintegrated back into the Fleet in a social model that reunited their citizens, making the community responsible for the raising of the children, rather than the bureaucracy. It certainly had its growing pains, but by and large it was coming together, and the previously segregated children were now learning about what it was to_ contribute_ to society, instead of being set apart from it, while their seniors were sharing their experiences and knowledge instead of merely reminiscing about them in activity centres.

Rendering up a surprisingly large amount of hull and deck plating, the scrap from the second largest freighter in the Fleet was then primarily used to repair and refit the Pegasus, and the new_ Endeavour_, as well as build desperately needed new Viper spaceframes, and repair an impressive amount of Cylon Raiders. All of this had been achieved while the Fleet continued on its exodus across the stars, with the Foundry Ship, _Hephaestus_, utilizing her Haulers to propel or pull the scavenged _Aptian_ along, after her long-suffering engines had finally been powered down for the last time, and her remaining fuel off-loaded to the _Pegasus_. Until then, she had continued to move with the Fleet while being dismantled, becoming smaller and smaller by the day, until she looked like a bare metal "skeleton with a motor on it", as Ryan had quipped. Then, the _Hephaestus_ had taken over, towing what remained behind her, as the metal workers set up mobile space docks to do their vital job.

Of course, the manpower required had been enormous. They had done a massive recruitment campaign not only for new Colonial Warriors, but also for apprenticing tradesmen within the Fleet. The response had been phenomenal. Young men and women had signed up in droves, as the energy of conclusively finding real, live Earthmen seven sectars before had accelerated when they had rediscovered the Juggernaut and his savaged _Pegasus_. Add to that a military victory over a Cylon Base Ship, the recapture of the hated Baltar, and then adding an additional battleship—the new _Endeavour_—to their Fleet, and morale was at an all-time high. Even the temporary inconvenience of cramped accommodations during the earliest sectars of the redistribution of the citizens hadn't quashed the mood.

Dayton walked through the usual disarray, finally arriving at the workstation where he could usually find Paddy Ryan. Sure enough, the familiar grey head was visible, but it was resting on the workbench, eyes closed, mouth open, snoring. How anybody could sleep in this racket was beyond Dayton. After all, it wasn't like Paddy had been exchanging swordplay with two junior officers that morning. Then again, they'd all been pulling ridiculous shifts for the last three months, and Paddy with his precious aeronautics and combat systems engineering background had worked harder than most of them, like Dayton, needing to get up to speed on Colonial technology before he could even begin to start co-designing what had become known as the Hybrid Fighter.

The former Abaddon-class Cylon Base Ship had been full of hundred yahren old Raiders of varying conditions, ranging from mostly destroyed to barely scratched, when they had found her adrift in space near the still-mysterious Planet "P". Determinedly, and in desperate need of resources, they had redesigned the fighter craft, keeping the basic Cylon fuselage, propulsion and weapons systems, but integrating more technically sophisticated Colonial navigation and communications gear. In addition, an improvement in electronic countermeasure technology —gained from the mysterious Wraith ships of unknown origin, which were recovered from Torg's Pirate Asteroid—seemed to effectively block any concentrated scans that would reveal that the "Cylon" Raiders in fact had Human pilots. In addition, the ECT was virtually undetectable, it was emitted at such a low frequency, below those the Cylons and Colonials usually scanned.

"Are you checking for light leaks?" Dayton asked, leaning down over the workbench and murmuring in Ryan's ear. "Or does the fuel system need purging?" He gently touched toed the other's foot.

A slight sigh and a flickering of his eyelids was Ryan's initial response to the teasing questions. Then, "Uh . . . yeah. So far, so good in here. Integrity is one hundred percent. Crap, it's pitch black." He opened his eyes, rubbing them like a child after his nap, and then stretched out his limbs with a noisy yawn.

"I see."

"And her wheel bearings are all packed." Ryan grinned

"Uh huh. I figured it was something like that," smiled Mark.

"Hey, does Paddy deliver, or what?"

"Well, in that case I could use a pizza with everything on it on the Bridge in say . . . an hour," grinned Mark, glancing at his Colonial timepiece. "Dorado will be landing any centon. I need to know, are we on schedule?" he asked, sitting on the corner of the desk.

"I have my own schedule," Ryan grinned, running his hands through hair that was once again growing out, the unruly curls now tamed beneath the additional weight, completing his scraggly "beach bum" look. "And I'm _always_ on time."

Admittedly, at times like this Dayton questioned the rumour that Ryan had ever served in the Canadian military in _any_ capacity. While his brilliance in aeronautics and flight systems engineering was unquestionable, he had seemingly long-since left behind any trace of discipline, conduct, or military decorum that had ever been pounded into his thick skull.

"Yeah? Well, my schedule has us leaving the Fleet behind in a matter of centars, for about six weeks. I need to know I have at _least_ the two squadrons you promised me, fully checked out and ready to fly." Dayton crossed his arms over his chest. "Hmm. . .?"

"Actually," Ryan smiled, picking up a data pad off the table and handing it to his old CO, "I signed the last of the flight tested Hybrids out to your strike captain, as of about two hours and some change ago." He indicated the signature on the screen. "Starbuck told me that if you showed up looking for them, to tell you that the squadrons are his gig, and you're to get your 'astrum' back up to the Bridge where it belongs." An incredibly large grin and twinkling eyes accompanied the message.

"He did, did he?" Dayton growled. "Well, sounds like our resident espresso machine needs a bit of a talking to."

"I believe he added that you have 'control issues', and that you don't trust him to wipe his . . . uh, nose, without running it by you first," Paddy chuckled.

"Sounds like you had a real heart to heart with _Café Amico_," Dayton muttered. Sure, he'd been watching over Starbuck's progress with the squadrons, but only because the kid looked damned tired lately, constantly rubbing that shoulder that obviously was still bothering him, or rolling his fingers that were rumoured to be numb or tingling. Cassie had mentioned that if Starbuck overdid it with the swordplay, that he would probably make his other symptoms worse, even while increasing muscle mass. She had said that what he needed was rest . . . but getting any warrior to rest when he could be duelling with ancient weapons would be akin to a miracle.

"It was nothing that he hasn't already told you to your face, Mark," Ryan shrugged.

It reminded Dayton that the new chain of command hadn't altered the frank honestly between Starbuck and himself. If the commander had any illusions of his strike captain affecting the same respectful approach he had with Adama or Tigh, they were dashed in short order. The_ Ristretto Kid_ didn't pull any punches, which was exactly why Dayton wanted him in his line of command.

"So once Dorado is aboard, are we fully crewed?" Ryan asked.

"Apollo's on the _Galactica_. He's due back in a couple centars."

"Right. Saying goodbye to his kid, I imagine." Ryan nodded. "Do you want me to meet Dorado with you?" Ryan asked.

Dayton looked Paddy over for a moment, considering the first impression he wanted to make when his newest bridge officer and Academy tactics instructor stepped aboard his ship. Dorado had been through a lot, after all. "No. Not this time, Paddy."

"Ah c'mon, Mark, it could be fun," Paddy grinned, getting up to join him. "We'll crack open a few ales, and talk about the bad old days with Torg . . ."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Fraidy cat! Besides, I could use a little fun, you know." He waved a hand around the station. "All work and no play, makes Paddy a dull boy."

"It's not _supposed_ to be fun, Paddy" Dayton reminded him, turning to go.

"And therein lies the problem . . ." Paddy explained, jogging to catch up, and then throwing a casual arm around his friend's shoulder, accompanying him regardless.

--

Starbuck had never worked this hard in his entire life, not even back in the orphanage, when Matron had caught him hacking into the computer to access card games and girlie holoptics when he was supposed to be at Worship. For the next couple sectars—after cleaning every turbo-flush in the place, twice—he'd been assigned to hard labour with the harvesters after his instruction periods were completed to teach him a lesson. And it had.

He'd learned to play pyramid.

Yeah, it made a guy second guess his decision that had turned the dashing, intrepid, and diabolis-may-care lieutenant of the Battlestar _Galactica_ into the strike captain of the Covert Operations Ship_ Endeavour_. His brain was so full of both extraneous and tediously detailed data that it was sure to explode if he had to absorb just one more piece of information . . .

"Captain Starbuck, apparently there's a funny smell coming from your quarters."

For a moment, he did not respond, still totally focused on trying to figure out how to marry the scanner circuits on the new Cylon/Colonial Hybrid fighters with those they had found in the Wraith seven sectars ago. It took a moment for the young man's words to penetrate his concentration.

"Captain? Excuse me?" the youngster repeated, glancing around the cluttered area that smelled like a mix of old degreaser, fuel, and stale fumarellos, despite an upgrade in the air recirculation.

Starbuck glanced upward at the trainee technician, the pimply-faced young man's name evading him for the moment, as he finally asked, "Come again?"

Maybe it had something to do with him being unable of late to complete just about any task without being interrupted by somebody with a question, a problem or a near disaster, but he had reached his limit. He had never claimed to be a patient man, let alone a saint, and directing this group of cadets, technical trainees, along with those that they had managed to resurrect from retirement, while simultaneously dealing with a clingy IL Cylon whose sole ambition was to _please_ Starbuck, had him at his wits' end.

"There's a funny smell from the newly piped-in turbo-flush . . ." the trainee began, before clamping his mouth tight again, and biting his lip. His eyes darted back towards the relative safety of the landing bay.

"Since when was the strike captain of _any_ ship in charge of . . ._ funny smells_?" Starbuck growled, glancing at the mounting pile of felgercarb on his desk that had fallen victim to gravity and had slid onto the deck at some point. At least he thought there was a desk under there somewhere. There had to be at least eight or ten data pads, each loaded to capacity, and awaiting his careful consideration on any number of topics ranging from the squadron placement of the most recent recruits, to the latest progress—or setbacks—on the Hybrid fighters that made up his wing. Then there were duty rosters; greasy tools that looked like they probably had been brought from Kobol, and used every single day since then; a wad of old-fashioned aeronautic plans that Ryan had dumped there for the latest tweaks for tightening navigation and handling; an Academy-style course outline that Apollo had asked him to look over; some bolts and assorted engine parts, a cup of very dead java; a tome entitled Aeronautical Advancements; lists of various parts and supplies that needed to be begged, borrowed, scavenged or stolen; a sadly neglected triad helmet; an almost empty box of Empyrean fumarellos; and the most daggit-eared set of cards that he had ever owned . . . the tragedy being that they had never actually been used in a game.

"Well, sir," the trainee tech adjusted his cap so the rim covered his face a little more, before continuing nervously, "I'm only following orders."

Starbuck opened his mouth, ready to assign the young technician to the Waste Maintenance Department to get intimately familiar with the "funny smells" of the liberally used porta-flushes on the_ Endeavour_, when the words sunk in.

"_Whose_ orders?"

"Your wife's, sir," the cadet replied, pulling at the neck of his collar, as he flushed a bright red. "Ensign Luana's."

Starbuck raised an eyebrow. "Must be a pain in the astrum to be outranked by just about everybody else aboard, huh Cadet?"

"Most definitely, sir."

Starbuck smirked, sticking his feet one after the other atop an open drawer jutting out from his desk. He crossed his arms behind his head for good measure, insinuating that he wasn't going anywhere. "Dismissed."

"Sir!" The cadet replied, turning smartly on his heel and making himself scarce.

Only then did Starbuck climb hastily to his feet, and head for his quarters . . . to deal with the funny smell.

--

Boxey's head was downcast, his hand curled tightly into Muffit's fur as he stood there before his father. These last few sectars rivalled those right after losing Serina, while Boxey was supposedly groomed to face sectons, and eventually sectars, without his father, the executive officer of the _Endeavour_. There was no place for children or families on the Covert Operations Ship, partially because of its mission, partly because of its design, and also because it had been decided that Colonial Warriors and support personnel would routinely rotate through four sectar tours, after this preliminary six secton shakedown cruise, the sole exception being Commander Dayton. Despite this, Apollo had taken the position, knowing that the promotion was not only a necessary change and challenge career-wise, but that his participation in this newly developed Covert Operations Ship would be important to its success.

Translation: They needed someone to keep an eye on Dayton and Starbuck.

"Thank you," Apollo murmured to Sheba, as she gently, but persistently pushed Boxey across the threshold of Athena's quarters. The boy had made himself scarce, even knowing his father was coming to spend a few final centars with him before shipping out. It was Sheba who had finally found him, sulking in a storage cupboard in the Rejuvenation Centre, his trusty daggit at his side, a conspicuously timed mechanical yelp giving them away.

"Go easy on him," Sheba murmured, caressing Apollo's cheek lightly, at the same time smoothing Boxey's hair. Her eyes sparkled brightly with suppressed emotion, as she looked down at the boy tenderly. "I still remember how it feels . . ."

Apollo nodded, remembering the tale Sheba had told of a certain little girl who had hidden in the nearby orchard, refusing to say goodbye to her father, confident that Cain wouldn't leave on his tour of duty if he couldn't find her.

She'd been wrong.

"So do I," Apollo murmured, remembering more than one tearful goodbye to his own father while he was young. At least until he'd learned to "be a man". He leaned forward, and tenderly kissed her, not knowing if he would find the extra precious few centons to say goodbye to her properly before he had to return to the Endeavour.

She smiled sadly, not daring to say anything, as she turned to go.

Apollo sighed, hitting the control that closed the hatch as he turned to consider his son. He'd heard it all over the last few sectons, with Boxey alternating between bursting into tears, accusing Apollo of putting his career before him, and blatantly telling his father that he didn't care about him. Apollo's saving grace had been the childcare cooperative that he had belonged to for the last three sectars, which provided some consistency in a young life full of uncertainty. Apollo's was one of five military families, who had united their efforts and responsibilities in child rearing in order to provide unified parental guidance to children affected by the rigours of rotating parents, and demanding work schedules. In a Fleet already rife with single parents or guardians struggling to balance work and "home life", this model had taken off like sunbursts, especially with the recent recruitment drive for additional technical and military manpower, as well as the integration of orphans back into the general populace. As long as parents and guardians shared similar values, and met regularly to discuss issues, schedules and problems, the cooperative worked well, and had become a much-needed solution to Apollo's constant challenge of finding Boxey a childminder.

But a cooperative still couldn't replace a father.

"Boxey, come here," Apollo said quietly, turning to sit on a chair. The boy reluctantly moved to his father's side, stopping short of climbing up into Apollo's lap like he used to do at the tender age of six. At the ripe old and sagacious age of seven, he was far too old for such things now. "My father went away a lot too, Boxey, when I was young. Long missions, aboard the Galactica . . ." He brushed the boy's hair aside, barely able to see his eyes, but the tracks from Boxey's tears told the story. Apollo's throat constricted, and he briefly wondered if somehow, somewhere, Serina was now cursing him. But then Serina had a wisdom and understanding that far surpassed his own.

"I . . . I don't want you to go," Boxey admitted, throwing himself into Apollo's arms, and clinging to him as if he could stop his father's departure by sheer physical force. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks once again. "I . . . I . . ."

"I know. I know." Apollo murmured into his son's hair, pressing the small form against him, and feeling tears well up in his own eyes. He pulled Boxey into his lap, cradling him. "But it's only six sectons, son. Then I'll be back, and I'll either be assigned back to the_ Galactica_ or to the_ Pegasus_."

"But . . . what if you don't come back?" Boxey asked, his words barely discernable over his sobs. "Talon said the_ Endeavour_'s job is to . . . to engage any Cylons before they get a chance to reach the Fleet." Talon was one of the kids in the cooperative.

"Yes, it is, but we haven't detected any Cylons since we found the _Pegasus_, Boxey."

"We hadn't seen them for a long time before you and Starbuck flew to that Base ship, the one Baltar told you all about." He looked up at Apollo, eyes wet. "We hadn't seen them for a long time when we found Planet 'P'."

Something in Boxey's voice sounded accusatory. It also sounded chastening, as if to remind Apollo of their most basic truth: until they knew differently, the Cylons would always be there.

"Well, I can't argue with you there," said Apollo, feeling almost like he was back in the middle of an Academy dressing down when he was a cadet, rather than talking to a child. "But, more than likely, this mission will just be to test out all the ship's new and repaired systems, all the Hybrid fighters we've built, and to work out any problems," he reassured the boy. "I'll be back. I promise."

"Warrior's honour?" Boxey asked, his eyes still holding that absolute trust that Apollo knew would run out eventually.

"Warrior's honour."

--

Starbuck stepped into his quarters, immediately grinning as he noticed the subdued lighting, and more importantly, the total absence of "funny smells". The tiny space was Spartan, even by _Galactica_ command quarters standards, but for the first time that he could remember, he'd actually caught himself thinking of this four metron by four metron room aboard the _Endeavour_ as "home".

"Hmm, not bad timing," Luana murmured throatily from their bed, which had been pushed into the furthest corner of the room for practicality. She was draped provocatively in a sheet and nothing else, as she glanced at the chrono at their bedside. "I figured that with the schedule you've been keeping, you're more than overdue for a java break . . . so I hope you don't mind my subterfuge."

"That depends," he grinned, doffing his jacket and boots, crossing the room quickly to stretch out on the bed next to her. He picked at the sheet, leaning forward to kiss the sensitive flesh of her throat.

"On what?" she purred teasingly, raking a hand through her silky brown hair, and letting it cascade over a bare shoulder.

"Hmm . . ." he murmured, breathing in her scent. "Well, I'm guessing I'm not here to repair the turbo flush."

"Most_ definitely_ not," she chuckled, running her hands through his hair as he pushed her onto her back. "Though some servicing of another kind might be in order."

"I was hoping . . ."

"Eventually," she inserted, teasing his bottom lip with her fingertip. "I have some news."

"Oh?" he asked, his heart immediately fluttering with hope as he wondered for the third time in three sectars if this would be the time that she would tell him . . .

"It's finally official. We're sealed."

He dredged up a smile, remembering the bureaucratic felgercarb they had to go through to have their wedding ceremonies—one by Ama, and the other by Dayton—recognized by the paper-pushing borays of the Colonial State. "That's great."

It was weird how you could not even realize that you wanted to be a father, until an endless number of medical personnel began to tell you that it just wasn't possible, due to Luana's exposure to some Cylon chemical warfare while on Planet 'P'. And the further away the likelihood of parenthood withdrew, the more Starbuck found, to his surprise, that he wanted it. So much so that successive disappointments, as they listened to Ama telling them to "have faith", became more and more crushing. _You always want most what you cannot have . . ._

"And that's not all," she smiled, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Lu . . ." he breathed expectantly. _Could it be? Despite all the medical gobbledygook..._

"I got the assignment, Starbuck! I'm going to be flying the Wraiths, and acting as liaison between the Battlestars and the _Endeavour_!"

"Lu, that's fantastic!" he grinned, pulling her into his arms, swallowing any disappointment, knowing how much this meant to her. There had been a lot riding on this, given the fact that his wife was forbidden to work in Starbuck's line of command with the strictly enforced fraternization rules, which had been exhumed from the regulation manual with the addition of another Battlestar _and_ Covert Operations Ship to the military Fleet. He hadn't wanted to think about Lu considering taking a position on one of the Battlestars because she couldn't fly while assigned to the _Endeavour_. At the same time, he knew she had the right temperament and skill set to pilot the unarmed Wraith, relying on speed, cunning, and the amazing electronic countermeasures that jammed the average Colonial or Cylon scanners, leaving her all but undetectable as she acted as a silent messenger between capital ships, preventing accidental interception of long-range transmissions that could reveal positions and other critical data. And the fact that Colonel Apollo was the commanding officer of the Wraiths, kept her out of Starbuck's direct line of command, exactly the way the strike captain had planned it from its inception three sectars ago. "When did Apollo tell you?"

"Just before he left for the _Galactica_," she replied, giggling with unrepressed joy. Flying had become as important to her, as roaming the countryside of her native planet Empyrean had once been.

"Well then," he kissed her tenderly, grinning as she nipped playfully at his bottom lip. "I think a celebration is in order."

"Only one thing could make me happier, Starbuck . . ." her words trailed off, as a fleeting shadow of pain crossed her features. They'd discussed it a few times, and she too had been dreaming of having a family, even more so now that it had been denied them. She smiled at him again, putting her arms around his neck. "Love me, Innamorato."

"Always, Lu," he rasped, claiming her lips once again.

--

Dayton stood erect as the boarding platform was put in place next to the shuttle, and he waited for the hatch to open. For a moment he regretted that he hadn't heeded Apollo's suggestion of a little pomp and ceremony for the initial boarding of a senior officer, but time was short, manpower was precious, and he was going to be kicking the tires and lighting the fires later that day, come Hell or high water.

"Should I button up my shirt?" asked Ryan, next to him.

"Your mouth, more like," returned Dayton. "Tom Selleck would sue if he could see you."

"I'm going more for the Mike Love look." He struck a surfer pose, balancing precariously on some imaginary board. "Catch a wave, Mark."

"Hey Paddy, you look like you're sitting on top of the world," Baker inserted, coming to join them with Porter at his side.

"Well, sometimes you have to get away from the shady turf, Bob," Ryan returned, tilting over to the right, one leg coming off his "board", as he compensated to regain his balance. Or imbalance.

"And catch some rays on the sunny surf?" Porter asked, as he glanced nervously in the shuttle's direction.

"Ooh, yeah," Dayton replied. It just felt right that they were all here to meet Dorado. Porter wouldn't have missed it. Not after the warrior had saved his butt down on Planet 'P'. He still harboured feelings of guilt about it.

"Yo, Dayton!" Starbuck's voice echoed through the bay.

As Dayton glanced back over his shoulder at his approaching strike captain, he realized that perhaps there was a place for decorum, after all. "_Yo, Dayton_? Man alive, _Skinny Latte_, did you ever hear of addressing your commanding officer by rank? Especially when a senior bridge officer is about to disembark and get his first look around the _Endeavour_ since it was a derelict Cylon Base Ship." Then a glance at Luana's beatific smile reminded him that Starbuck's wife had been assigned to the Wraiths, and the young man's informal greeting probably had more to do with the weight that had just been lifted from his shoulders, rather than any intentional disrespect.

Starbuck pulled his fumarello out of his mouth, while throwing an arm around his wife. "Aye, Commander, sir." Then he grinned. "Did you hear the news?"

"Yes, of course I did." Dayton returned. "Congratulations, Luana. I hear the fight for this position was fierce, and that Apollo finally had to leave it up to the computer to tabulate the final scores from the sims, and pick the most qualified and skilful candidate." Dayton was well aware that what little spare time Starbuck had had lately, he had spent it putting his wife through the paces in the sims, giving her the personal training it would take to rise above the rest of the field of pilots, who had more experience, but were also considered less malleable due to their centars logged. Command needed a pilot who could stay out of sight, and lose a tail, rather than confront an adversary, should the situation arise. Dayton had also heard that Starbuck had been a hard taskmaster, not cutting Lu any slack at all just because they shared the same bed.

"Thanks, Commander," Luana smiled. "I'm looking forward to actually climbing in that bird, and getting acquainted with my new ship."

"That will be up to Apollo," Dayton reminded her. "He's in charge of the Wraiths, and by extension of that, _you_."

"I know. Apollo briefed me." She glanced up at the platform as a familiar figure appeared.

"Dorado!" greeted Dayton, striding forward to meet him. Horribly injured on Planet 'P' in the aftermath of the comet's impact, Dorado had almost died, losing both legs, part of one arm, and an eye in the process. Then, with resolve, sheer determination, and the amazing skills of the medical staff on the _Galactica_, the young captain had unexpectedly pulled through. But it would have been a bleak sort of existence, facing life in a hoverchair.

Then Starbuck had an idea.

If they could design a neural implant to save Commander Cain from permanent disability following considerable brain damage, then surely they could come up with some kind of prosthetic devices that could also be neurologically "wired" into Dorado, giving him a second chance at life, and eradicating an inevitable medical discharge from the service. The kid had pitched it to Malus, the IL Cylon that had taken a shine to Starbuck, to put it mildly. From early on, the warrior instinctively knew that Malus would be a real asset to the Colonials if his defection to their side was on the level. The IL had already proven it in battle. This time, Malus came up with ideas so radical, that the physicians couldn't help but stand up and take notice.

Malus, who had also managed to successfully modify the original neural implant on Commander Cain, was once again conscripted to a new medical project in league with Dr's Salik and Sobek. Dorado had been fitted, first with a new arm, and then later with new legs, courtesy of the very same Cylon technology that Malus had incorporated with Cain. A glass eye completed the missing parts, but Malus was working on a cybernetic eye to replace that. Dayton reckoned that they had made the Colonial Fleet's first Bionic Man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster . . .

"Commander Dayton," Dorado said, dropping his kit bag, grasping Dayton's hand and shaking it, somewhat perfunctorily.

It felt a little cool to the touch, but Salik's cosmetic touches made it look as real as the original. Actually, Mark suddenly realized, it _was_ the original . . . The prosthetic arm was his left limb. "Welcome aboard, Captain."

"Thank you, sir." Dorado nodded at his former prison mates, and then his old Academy friend, and the wife. "Quite the greeting committee." He smiled a little uncomfortably.

"Good to see you, Dorado," Ryan smiled.

"Really good," Porter added a little awkwardly.

"Wait till you see what we've done to the place," Starbuck fanned a hand, encompassing the landing bay.

"How are you doing?" asked Dayton, sensing a noticeable distance in the other man since they had spent time under Torg's reign of terror. But then almost losing your life, your career, and having your world turned upside down more than once generally did that to a man. How long had it taken Dayton and his friends to begin to feel Human again?

"Better than any of us expected three sectars ago, Commander," replied the other after a cursory glance around the bay, and a nod. He held out a data chip to Dayton. "Captain Dorado reporting for duty, sir. Permission to come aboard."

"Granted," said Dayton.

"You _are_ aboard," Starbuck reminded the captain.

Dorado took a moment to meet his glance, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Same old Starbuck. You never let up."

"As long as I'm breathing . . ." Starbuck shrugged.

"Well then, don't stop breathing, Bucko," Dorado smiled, the warmth in his dark, brown eyes genuine, before returning his attention to Dayton. "Here are my orders, sir. My transfer to the _Endeavour, _effective immediately."

"Accepted."

"If I may be shown to my quarters, sir," requested Dorado.

"Of course," said Dayton, casting a brief glance at Starbuck.

"Yeah, I'll take you," Starbuck immediately inserted, slapping the other on the shoulder fondly. "The crew deck is this way." He started to lead the warrior away. "Then I'll run you by the Bridge, since Apollo and Dayton want you spending at least half your time up there, and then for old times sake . . . "

"A moment please!"

An all too familiar woman with wild white hair framing her face, starkly contrasting her tidy Councilwoman robes, disembarked the same shuttle with another woman. Dayton wasn't sure he'd met the other woman.

"Oh, frack . . ." Starbuck breathed, taking a step back, his hand reflexively moving to massage his right shoulder in a sign of anxiety. He glanced at Dorado accusingly. "You could have warned me . . ."

"She threatened to turn me into a putrid . . . not that I know what that is, but it sounded bad," Dorado replied with a shrug.

"Coward," Starbuck returned. He glanced back at the others. "Which one of you set _this_ up?"

"I did," a feminine voice came from behind them, as Cassiopeia joined them.

"With my help," added Luana. "Welcome to the _Endeavour_, Rhiamon. Ama."

"Face it, Starbuck," said Ryan. "You're doomed. _Doomed_, I tells ya!"

Dayton couldn't help but laugh as Starbuck abruptly affected that trapped look, with females surrounding him from all sides, Ama and Rhiamon on one side, and Luana and Cassiopeia on the other. Yeah, the kid would be bolting for the nearest exit in nano-seconds. He had managed to avoid Ama for almost a sectar by getting timely tips from Chameleon, who was constantly at the necromancer's side, but his luck had obviously run out. Dayton placed a reassuring, but restraining hand on Starbuck's shoulder as the four women drew nearer.

"Med Tech Rhiamon, reporting for duty," the elderly Empyrean Healer stated, her long grey hair tied back neatly off her face. She smiled at Starbuck, "I understand you're in need of my services. Again."

"Med tech?" Starbuck repeated disbelievingly, his voice strained. Oh, sure she had possibly saved his leg with a poultice when he had been bitten by a venomous Crawlon on the planet Empyrean, but that was _after_ she had opened up one of his veins and bled him to "balance his humours" while he was in four-point restraints.

"When the recruitment call sounded throughout the Fleet, I decided to answer it," Rhiamon replied. "I've taken the intensive introductory med tech course, and Cassiopeia has agreed to preceptor me through my levels. I'm now officially part of the crew." She smiled, and Starbuck visibly shuddered.

"Yes, Rhiamon's already proven herself gifted with natural remedies, and Ama was telling me she also practices the ancient art of neural stimulation by penetrating the nerve meridians with fine needles . . ." Cassiopeia explained, her interest in the practice apparent, as she moved to Dayton's side, tucking her hand into his elbow.

"_Needles_?" Starbuck gasped, his mouth gaping like a piscon out of water as he shrugged out of Dayton's grip and took another step back. "Look, I'm fine . . ." he shook his head, raising his hands before him protectively, as though they could magically defend him against three Empyreans and a Gemonese med tech . . . the kid didn't have a prayer.

"Oh, stop your fussing," Ama admonished him. "We're going to need you in top shape for this mission, son of my heart. You've been avoiding me, and the entire medical profession long enough, Starbuck. We _had_ to take matters into our own hands. _Tsk tsk_."

"Commander Dayton, I'd appreciate it if you would order Captain Starbuck into my care." Cassiopeia told him, smiling like a Cheshire cat. "According to my records, he's overdue by a sectar for his _sectonly _treatments that Dr. Salik recommended on his release from the _Galactica_'s Life Station."

"Naughty, naughty!" Ryan waved a finger at him while Baker clucked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval.

"Well, I'm sure Porter would be more than happy to escort Dorado to his quarters. Hmm?" Dayton replied.

"Happy as a turkey the day before Thanksgiving," Porter smiled tremulously, guiding Dorado towards the Core. "See you around, Starbuck. And good luck."

"Seems you're a tad tardy with your medical follow-up, _Lightnote_," Dayton grinned at the blond warrior, getting a perverse joy out of Starbuck's obvious discomfiture. "He's all yours, ladies."

"That's _Captain_ Lightnote to you, Dayton" Starbuck returned with a growl as three of the four women whisked him away towards the Life Station.

"By the way, Commander Mark-Dayton," Ama took the Earthman's arm, "Tell me about the spiritual representative for my Empyrean godchildren and my dear warrior friend, Kella, while you're away from the Fleet for the next six sectons."

"Uh . . . er . . . well . . ." Dayton sputtered. He wracked his brain. Certainly they had spiritual advisors in a variety of positions, much as the military had back home, but none that he could think of at the moment that were Empyrean. Doubtless, Ama had an opinion on that.

As she did with most things.

"That's what I thought. Fortunately, the Council is out of session for the present, and I find myself at loose ends . . ."

"_Ama_ . . ." Dayton breathed, feeling as though _he_ was the one now being set up. None-too-pleasant memories of his first employer flashed across his memory.

"Oh, don't thank me. I'm happy to do my part," she chuckled through her gap-toothed grin. "After all, I know my responsibilities, and you don't know it yet, but you need me."

"Well, I don't know about that . . ."

"How could you? I haven't explained it yet." She patted his cheek tolerantly. "And please, Mark-Dayton. . . " She smiled a smile that made him feel as if he'd just been snookered. _Again_. "Please, don't concern yourself about quarters. I'll join the other women in the billet."

"But . . ." he struggled for an argument, "You're a member of the Council of the Twelve and the spiritual leader of your people, I can't billet you . . . like a common warrior."

"I _did_ used to live in a cave, Dear Heart," she reminded him with a smile. "With all the comforts and amenities that implies."

"Like some feline predators in the wild . . ." he mentioned aside.

"Exactly," she purred.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"_Relax_, Starbuck," Cassiopeia repeated with half an eye on the scan she had completed, as she kneaded the muscles in his right shoulder, coaxing out the knots that had taken up permanent residence. Metrons away, Rhiamon was opening an old-fashioned leather-bound satchel, and removing a set of fine needles, making quite a show of placing them on a treatment table where they caught the light and glinted evilly.

"Oh yeah, right," he murmured from the bio-stretcher in the Life Station, where they obviously chilled the surfaces in preparation for patient care. "I'm face down, practically naked, and under orders by my CO to have an Empyrean Healer drive needles into me. I'm. . . just completely relaxed, Cassie. Like melted mushies."

"It was sounding like every other day up until the needles," Cassie quipped.

He couldn't help but grin. "Cute, Cass . . ." He glanced over at Lu, who was laughing quietly, while keeping a careful watch for any possible signs of his escaping.

"How's the pain?" Cassiopeia asked, switching from the gentle teasing to asking about his health history with an ease that came naturally to her. She moved her fingers about one centimetron to the right.

Starbuck sighed, capitulating now that he was finally in the Life Station. "It's more of a dull burning that never really goes away. I barely notice it anymore."

"It's the numbness he really complains about, Cassiopeia," Luana inserted. "He says that he can't sleep on his right side, or even turn his head too far that way without the tingling and numbness getting worse."

"That must make flying interesting," Cassie glanced at Starbuck. "What's your range of motion like?"

"Not too bad. I sit on the left," he shrugged. "Dietra has the right."

"It's amazing what our bodies can get used to, or adapt to," she offered, before asking, "Are you still using the analgesics?"

"No."

"Do you have any more?"

"No."

"Would you be using them if you _had_ more?" she asked, continuing to work his muscles as she probed him.

He shrugged.

"Why didn't you come get more?" Cassie paused. "If you need them . . ."

"I haven't had time, and it really only bothers me at night."

"The pain or the numbness?"

"Both. It seems to stiffen up at night." He paused, and then grinned roguishly. "The shoulder, I mean."

Cassie cleared her throat. "Every night?"

"I guess. I try not to dwell on it."

"Seems pointless?" she asked.

"Uh . . . yeah." The conversation seemed familiar, somehow. "Besides, I've barely had time to_ sleep_ since we started refitting this tub, Cassie. We've all been way too busy to notice the little things."

"Starbuck, have you been avoiding your follow-up appointments because _I've_ been the one running the Life Station until a physician is assigned?" Cassiopeia asked point blank.

"Sagan, Cass . . ." he muttered, since it had entered his own mind that stripping down for his former lover, who was currently the love interest of a man who had become almost like another father figure to him, as well as his new commanding officer, while she massaged his body—which she had done erotically more times than not, in the past—could be a little uncomfortable.

Especially with Lu three metrons away, watching it all.

"Just answer me, because if this_ is _going to be a problem for you, we'd better figure out a solution, and fast. The Lords of Kobol know that you're probably going to be one of my regulars." She winked at Lu, then stepped back from him, brushing a stray lock of her golden hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand. "I suppose I _could_ get Rhiamon to permanently take you on as part of her workload . . ."

"Now, wait just a centon!" Starbuck rolled over, hastily grabbing the sheet that was covering him, as he sat up, dangling his legs over the side of the bio-stretcher. "Cass, I'm reasonably sure that I avoid all med techs equally. I don't play favourites; I'm what Dayton calls an 'equal opportunity avoider'. This has nothing to do with_ you_ personally." At least if Rhiamon entered the equation, it didn't. He could wrap his mind around it if necessary. He would try to think about Torg, Bex, Sire Dracus, Sire Regus, being shot, being stabbed, crashing his Viper . . . whatever else could fire the breaking thrusters on a young, healthy, virile male body from reacting the usual physical way when a beautiful woman started leaning over him, and massaging his aching muscles, her hair tickling his back as it inadvertently played across his naked flesh . . .

She leaned forward, hands on her slender hips, her blue eyes searching his. "Felgercarb, flyboy. You're avoiding me. And putting your health at risk because of it. I won't tolerate it, Starbuck."

"My health is fine."

"Not according to Luana. She says you only sleep four centars a night, and even then you toss and turn because of your shoulder freezing up. Usually, she wakes up to find you've given up and have gone to the Duty Office." She smiled. "If I mentioned that to Apollo, I'm sure he'd recommend a psychiatric exam as well."

Starbuck glowered at his wife. "I'm just busy. I have a lot to get done, Cass. The refit. The new cadets. The certifications on the new ships. Getting enough Empyrean ale for a six secton tour. Sometimes it takes a while to shut off my brain."

"Praise the Lords, it used to take a while to turn it _on_," Cassie rejoined, abruptly covering her mouth with her hand and looking surprised that the words had passed her lips. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Uh . . . should I leave?" Luana asked, looking hesitantly between them.

"No, of course not," Cassie reassured her, holding up a hand.

"Look, if you two have something to work out, I don't mind stepping out for a centon," Luana reiterated.

"_Do_ we have something to work out?" Starbuck asked Cassiopeia, wincing.

"Why are you asking _me_?" she returned, crossing her arms over her chest.

That struck an old familiar chord. "Because I'm usually the last to know . . ."

"Okay!" Luana stepped forward. "Now it's starting to sound like some kind of lover's spat. The problem being, you _both_ have different lovers now." She glanced from one to the other. "What's going on here?"

"Okay, I'll admit it . . . it's a little uncomfortable for me to look after Starbuck . . ." Cassie confessed, torn over wanting to be the consummate professional, but obviously falling short of that with her reaction to this particular Colonial Warrior. It was disappointing both professionally and personally. He simply didn't _deserve_ this much consideration seven sectars after their break up. "And I suppose I think I should be able to get past it because . . . well, because I'm a professional. Or at least I'm supposed to_ act_ like one."

"So I'm not the only one feeling a little awkward here?" Starbuck ventured, letting out a deep breath.

"_I'm_ a professional," she repeated a little desperately.

"And I'm just the slack-jawed Viper jock . . ." he broke off, and the irony was it hurt more to know he wouldn't fly a Viper again, than it did to be having it out with Cassie. To never be hurled through a launch tube because he'd sustained far too many internal injuries that his body simply couldn't take it . . . Lords, if the_ Endeavour_ and the Hybrids hadn't come along, he would be flying a desk somewhere. He rubbed his burning shoulder, glancing at Rhiamon as she looked back at him, fondling her current weapons of choice. Compared to this conversation, it seemed a welcome reprieve. "Never thought I'd be saying this, but can we get this over with?"

"Of course," Rhiamon nodded. "Just lie back down on your stomach, and try to relax."

"Yeah, right . . ." he murmured. "Like melted mushies . . . about to be devoured . . ."

--

Six sectons.

_That _could almost be an eternity.

Apollo leaned back against the wall of the turbo lift, blowing out a deep breath, rubbing his eyes, and shaking his head. Where on Kobol had he come up with the idea that his last few centars with Boxey could possibly be happy ones, as father, son and trusty daggit squeezed in whatever pleasures they could to make up for his upcoming absence? Instead of the idyllic scenario he had so wished for, it had been emotionally draining, filled with tears, guilt and fear.

_Just like when you were a kid._

His mother, Ila, had tried to normalize the inevitable partings, attempting to create the same joyful departure for Adama that Apollo had imagined so determinedly for himself and Boxey. When the young warrior _really_ thought back to his own childhood—getting past the carefully planned family outing, the departing hero's favourite dinner, and the dutiful line up at the front door as the military hovermobile arrived to whisk away Adama for yet another tour—he suddenly realized that his family had a tradition of trying to turn a difficult and emotional situation into some kind of artificially uplifting send off.

He sniffed in self-derision. He was only perpetuating the myth. Leaving your child behind was _no_ occasion to celebrate. It was merely a professional necessity, born out of his civilization's long standing history of being at war. He would have to make a concentrated effort next time to find some kind of way to just "hang out" with his son, not superimposing any kind of contrived, glucon-coated, impossibly gleeful expectations on them both.

He glanced at the levels passing by on the control panel, then narrowed his eyes as the side of the turbo lift seemed to ripple or undulate. A strange evanescent glow began to expand from a small slit, projecting slowly outward. Impossibly, solid metal was no longer solid. The whole bulkhead was shifting and mutating. He held his breath, bewildered as to what might be happening, at first wondering if the recent emotional roller-coaster ride was making him lose it, and then abruptly suspecting some kind of Empyrean involvement. After all the stories he had heard from Starbuck, this seemed to have Ama's signature all over it. He reached forward tentatively, to touch the surface.

The turbo lift abruptly came to a stop, and with a suddenness that startled him, the solid metal wall returned to normal. He frowned, his fingers lightly stroking the surface of the turbo lift. Cold, hard metal. So bemused was he by the episode that he totally missed the fact that Sheba was standing before him in the landing bay.

"Was it that rough?" she asked, her tone concerned.

"Huh?" Apollo asked, turning to regard her.

"Boxey. How did it go?" Sheba asked, gently taking his hand and leading him off the turbo lift, apparently assuming he was walking in a fog.

He took one more look at the turbo lift wall, instinctively having a bad feeling about this. Either he was hallucinating, or there was some Empyrean hocus-pocus at play. Not surprisingly, one possibility was as unappealing as the other. "Where's Ama?"

Sheba smiled tolerantly, looking around searchingly, before returning her gaze to him. "Sorry, I don't have my crystalline ball on me. You really don't want to talk about it, huh?"

"_What_?" he murmured. "Oh. Right," he replied, abashed. "Uh . . . it was . . . tough on him. Tough on _both_ of us."

Sheba nodded compassionately, and then looked around the busy launch bay, finally sliding her arms around him. "When are you due back aboard the _Endeavour_?"

"As if you didn't know," he replied knowingly. Sheba knew his schedule as well as _he_ did, down to the micron and without the need for a chrono. That was why they had managed to steal precious time together, more than once, despite the increasing demands of their jobs. His shuttle was preparing to leave, and he could see Jolly standing by the hatch, talking with Boomer, newly-minted strike captain of the _Galactica_. The two friends glanced in their direction, but were discretely giving them a moment together. Apollo sighed, pulling Sheba against him, holding her tightly, knowing it would be their last opportunity for a while. "I love you."

"I love you," she replied, burrowing into his chest.

They didn't need to say anything else. They had made sure that with this inevitable parting that anything that needed discussing, had been covered. Sheba would make a concerted effort to spend some time with Boxey, when her responsibilities allowed, trading off with Athena whenever possible. Slowly, she was becoming more and more present in the young boy's life, slipping into his daily routine with greater frequency, so as to become part of his growing circle of honorary family members.

Apollo stroked Sheba's hair, and then pulled back slightly, tipping up her chin and gazing into her eyes a long moment before tenderly kissing her. In a life with so much uncertainty, where by necessity relationships came and went with a brutal suddenness, his bond with Sheba was the one part of it that he knew was as solid as forged tylinium. He tilted his forehead against hers, smiling at her, before she reluctantly pulled back. Across the bay, a diplomatic cough made itself heard.

Their time—far too short— was up.

"Jolly's waiting. You'd better get going," she murmured, slipping an arm around him and steering him towards his shuttle.

"It'll go quickly," he replied, knowing that six sectons of putting the _Endeavour_ and her relatively greenhorn crew to the test, while exploring an unknown region of space before them, all the time being on the lookout for Cylons, and God knew who else, would pass by in the blink of an eye . . .as the last three sectars had.

"Apollo," Boomer stepped forward to greet him, his arm gripping the colonel's in a warrior's grip.

Apollo grinned, returning the grip, and then tweaking the captain's pin on his friend's collar. "Looks good on you, buddy. And about time, too."

"Well, Starbuck and I knew we couldn't stay lieutenants forever, as likely as that appeared at one point," Boomer rejoined with a smile. "By the way, tell him that I have a bone to pick with him. Seems that the OC is low on Empyrean Ale because he had every last available case loaded from the _Malocchio_'s storerooms onto a shuttle yesterday to stock up the _Endeavour_. And, I hear a few bottles of Proteus stock is unaccounted for as well."

Apollo chuckled. "He's doubling as one of our many supply officers . . . at least when it suits him."

"We're in good hands on the _Endeavour_, knowing that his godmother-in-law runs Empyrean Ale and Tobacconists," Jolly added.

"Well, considering you're dating Lia, Jolly, I'm beginning to worry that the _Galactica_'s supply line is about to totally dry up," Boomer quipped. "One might die of thirst, one might."

"_Two_ might," Sheba inserted with a smirk, "You have a point, Boomer. We'll have to work on Ama to increase her output of ale while the _Endeavour_ is away. After all, with Council out of session, she'll have some spare time on her hands."

"The Council out of session," said Boomer. "Well, I presume that damage will be minimal." They all chuckled.

"And Ama with spare time on her hands," Apollo frowned, thinking back to the rippling wall of the turbo lift. "Why does that worry me?"

"Well, if it worries you," Jolly laughed heartily, "then imagine how _Starbuck_ would feel! After all, now she's _family_"

The others joined in his laughter.

_--_

She was beautiful. Breathtaking. Utterly like an angel, with an effulgent, almost palpable radiance that yet seemed somehow ethereal. She was smiling at him, her face radiating an indescribable calm. Beckoning him forward. Holding out her hand in sweet invitation. It was plain that she wanted him. Desired him. Longed to enfold him within her. And her glimmering eyes were giving him a "come hither" look that the best-trained socialators across the universe could only strive to emulate. All he had to do was to rise up. To reach out to her. To take her hand. Just a step away from Paradise . . .

But Lords of Kobol, Lu would skin him alive, using her own Empyrean blade!

_ "_Starbuck, _life energy_ is the power by which any methods of healing are truly accomplished."

The words seemed to pull him physically and forcibly out of his dream, as though he was being torn in two, and he gasped in a breath at the violent upheaval. Eerily, a moment later, he felt strangely bereft and disoriented. He looked around to reaffirm that he was actually in the _Endeavour_'s Life Station, before closing his eyes once again._ That's what sleep deprivation will do to you, Bucko. _

"Whether we speak of the skills of the ancient herbal healers, or the most modern of medical techniques that Doctor Salik can bring to bear, it is so. Life energy is the force, the agent, which is the true and direct healer of the body. Thus, a healing art is superior or inferior to the degree that it can 'awaken' the flow of life energy in the body." Ama's voice seemed almost disembodied, flowing through him, rather than coming from any definable source. It filled him up . . . filled the void that had been left from his dream . . .

"Huh?" Starbuck muttered, his eyelids fluttering open reluctantly in the dimly lit treatment room as he lay propped on his left side, three separate pillows supporting him. It was comfortable. No, come to think of it, it was _damn_ comfortable. More comfortable than he'd been in sectars, actually. Of course, if he slept _this_ way every night, there'd be no room for Lu . . . "Do you want to run that by me again?"

"Which part?" asked Ama, leaning over him suddenly, looking into his eyes.

Meanwhile, Rhiamon gently removed the needles which she had carefully inserted, and replaced them with heavy hot packs.

"Everything after 'Starbuck'," he replied with a long sigh. His shoulder felt strangely cool and numb, even beneath the delicious heat. It was as though the comforting feeling was coming from _within_ him, rather from any other external source. But that could only be Empyrean gobbledygook that he had absorbed after spending all this time with Lu, Lia and Ama.

"Hmm. Fortunately, Starbuck, one does not have to _understand_ the flow of energy within one's self for it to occur." Ama smiled in amusement, gently trailing her fingertips over his face, and he closed his eyes instinctively. She slowed slightly, as she passed down the centreline of his nose, then continued on. "Rest now, my Prince."

"I'm not . . ." he began to murmur, once again finding it necessary to remind _another_ Empyrean that Luana had abdicated her title, and all that went with it, and that he was not interested in any part of the Empyrean power structure, up to and including the throne. Instead, his words trailed off wearily, as he found it increasingly difficult to keep impossibly heavy eyelids open. This time when he began to drift off, the woman in his dreams was Luana.

"Shush now. Rest."

_ --_

"What do you have?" Apollo asked without introduction, as he stepped through the hatchway into the Control Centre. He'd barely arrived back from the _Galactica_, when he'd been called here. He glanced at the monitor, then back up at the speaker.

"We are receiving a signal at Phi Seven Mark Four, ahead of the Fleet, Colonel Apollo," the IL, Malus, informed him. He put the scanner graphic up on the board, and pointed towards the region in question. It was well to port of the Fleet's current heading, and almost at the edge of their scanner range.

"Origin?" Apollo asked, as Malus inserted a digit into the _Endeavour_'s computer system, bypassing the need to access data the "old-fashioned" way. The cadet at that station glanced at the IL, anxiously awaiting an answer. The IL's eyes stopped oscillating for a moment, and the flashing of his brain sped up.

"Unknown," Malus replied after a moment, his "lights" returning to normal. Had he been Human, he might have sounded . . .disappointed. "It reads more as a natural energy wavelon, than any recognized form of artificial transmission, either Cylon or Human, Colonel." Malus "flipped a switch" internally, and put the signal on audio. It was an oscillating hiss, almost a whistle, coming through massive static. "Interestingly, the signal fluctuates in intensity."

Then, the speaker went silent.

"Colonel, the signal just disappeared," Cadet Sagaris told him.

"Try and re-establish, Cadet."

"Sir," said the other. He tried for almost a full centon, but the speaker stayed silent. "No good, sir. Nothing there at all, now."

"Very well. Dump it to the computer for crypto. Copy to Sergeant Komma on the _Galactica_. And check with Rigel, and see if they picked it up, as well."

"Sir," replied Sagaris.

"Malus?" Apollo asked. The IL was busily studying the scanner data.

"Yes, it is gone. For now anyhow," Malus confirmed, actually nodding slightly. "Odds are, it will be back, Colonel Apollo. Especially if it is a natural phenomenon."

Apollo smirked, recognizing one of Starbuck's oft-used phrases. "Cadet Pierus, get me the_ Galactica_. And have Commander Dayton and Captain Starbuck report to the Bridge . . . Command Centre."

"Will we be investigating the origin of the energy wavelons, Colonel?" Malus asked. He actually sounded excited at the prospect of exploring this new mystery, which wasn't surprising after over a centi-yahren of abandonment on Planet 'P', after the IL's Base Ship had been struck by a solar storm and had never returned to pick him and his troops up. Apollo couldn't help but laugh within, but kept his expression solidly neutral.

"That's up to Commander Adama, but coincidentally we _are_ scheduled to ship out later today, at 1800 centars, and head for that very quadrant," Apollo returned. "It _would_ make sense." He looked at the scanners again. What little they had been able to determine was maddeningly tenuous, and could be interpreted in any of a number of ways. The energy signatures resembled a supernova explosion to some extent, yet did not seem powerful enough to be an exploding star. Some planetary bodies acted as natural radio sources, yet the fluctuations _seemed_, at least to his untrained ear, as if they _could_ be modulated.

"Yes, Apollo?" said Adama, suddenly on screen, just as Dayton and Dorado entered. But not Starbuck . . .

"Commander, did you pick up the energy. . ." Apollo began, looking at his father on screen.

"The energy wavelons, yes," Adama replied, his gaze drawn away, and a frown crossing his brow. "In fact, Apollo, we're getting another . . ."

"Colonel, it's another signal!" Cadet Sagaris cried.

"Origin?" said Apollo.

"We're practically on top of it, sir. This one is from _within_ the Fleet!"

"Call an Alert!" Apollo told him, the klaxon blaring a moment later, warning all pilots to standby.

"What's going on?" Dayton demanded, as he crossed to the main station with Dorado on his heels. He leaned over Cadet Sagaris' shoulder. "What the hell is it?"

"A fluctuating energy wavelon of unknown origin, appearing first in quadrant Psi," Apollo pointed to the navigation board, "And now there's an identical signal, only it's coming from_ within_ the Fleet. Trace the origin!" Apollo ordered.

"That's impossible," Dayton muttered. "There's no way something can travel that fast, even with the hyperdrive flat out. It has to be two separate occurrences! Malus?"

"Energy levels are_ indeed_ different, Commander, but the frequency and wavelon configurations are unquestionably the same," the IL replied. He put a graphic of the current signal up on a screen, and that of the earlier one next to it. The correlation was almost one to one. "And it is worth mentioning that had the massive energy wavelons not been identified centons ago, we might not have even detected these smaller ones."

"Colonel Apollo, we're having trouble locking on the signal," Cadet Pierus informed him.

"Why?" asked Dorado.

"It's too close," replied Pierus. "Like staring into a high-powered illuminator."

"Keep trying," ordered Apollo.

"Yes, sir. But it's still fluctuating."

"Is it looking for something?" Dayton suggested.

"Like a scanner?" Apollo asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah. Like a cell phone."

"A _what_?"

Dayton explained. "The phone sends out a signal, until a compatible tower recognizes it and locks on."

"Like our Fleet Comm Line."

"Yeah. Pretty much," answered Dayton.

"I'm not reading a single ship out there, Apollo!" Dorado told him, suddenly manning a station beside another of the cadets. "Other than those of the Fleet!"

"Is it even a threat to us?" Malus posed. "It may be some natural phenomena in this quadrant." He plugged back into the system, running the real-time signal through his processors.

"_Galactica_?" Dayton asked.

"We can't lock on the signal either, Commander Dayton," Adama replied. "The source is still unknown; therefore, we can't rule out that it might be a threat to us. Get me Commander Cain, Omega. Standby, _Endeavour_."

"Standing by, _Galactica_."

Just then Starbuck lurched into the Control Centre, his tunic undone, and a flight jacket slung over his shoulder. His right eye was almost shut, and his hand was pressed to that side of his head, his wan face a mask of pain. "Phoenix and Sphinx Squadrons are standing by," he grunted. "What have we got?"

"What the frack happened to you?" Apollo asked, watching his friend shrug into the jacket.

"The Empyreans," Starbuck returned bluntly, joining him at the control panel. "My head is going supernova, but my shoulder feels _much_ better."

"Remind me never to hurt my shoulder," muttered Dayton, sparing Starbuck a quick glance. Dorado snorted a short laugh.

"So the headache is a side affect of the neural stimulation treatment?" Malus asked.

"Odds were two hundred to one, in case you were wondering, Mal," Starbuck nodded, and then winced with the motion. They saw Malus' brain speed up, a sure sign the IL was calculating. "Never mind all that now, what's going on?"

Apollo briefly explained the situation.

"Nothing like a command challenge to get us started," Starbuck frowned, looking at the readouts of the signals being digitally dissected on the computer by Malus. "Well, Mal?"

"I'm afraid my understanding of such anomalies is rather limited. I've traditionally dealt more in the practical and concrete, rather than the conceptual."

"Well then, let _me_ have a go," Ama suggested as she breezed into the Control Centre as if she owned it, Lia and Luana on her heels. "I do have some experience in the area, and you brought me here as a spiritual advisor, after all."

"Councilwoman Ama, this is a secure military area, you're not supposed to be here." Dayton attempted politely, yet assertively, as he stepped in front of her.

"Now, don't get your knickers in a knot, Mark-Dayton," she stopped before him, poking one index finger into his chest. "I'm not just interfering for the sake of being a busybody. I'm quite certain that I have connected with this entity this very morning."

"_Entity_?" Apollo asked.

"A life force quite unlike our own, Colonel. Yet, a life force all the same," Ama nodded.

Apollo glanced at Starbuck, searchingly.

"Don't look at _me_. They didn't cover this at the Academy," his strike captain replied, raising his hands, then looking to his wife and sister-in-law.

"Hear her out, Starbuck," Lia implored him, and then added, "Please, Commander Dayton."

"You speak of a _spirit_, Ama?" Malus asked, his lights flashing more quickly. This promised to be interesting. Being both a machine, and from a totally non-theistic society, Malus had little data on incorporeal entities, other than what he had gleaned while in the Fleet. Trying to incorporate Human beliefs into his programming, in this case especially, was challenging. Even the concept was difficult for him, until Dayton had once described it as thinking of software, without the computer. "Fascinating."

"Of course, Malus."

"Good or bad?" Dayton asked.

"Well, I've yet to meet a spirit _totally_ devoid of goodness or light," Ama replied. "Although there is one out there that I've felt on occasion . . ." She shuddered, almost imperceptibly, before adding, "But overall, I'd say_ this_ entity didn't exactly leave me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Oh . . ." She drew in a deep breath, raising her hands while simultaneously closing her eyes. "She's coming . . ." she breathed.

"_She_?" Starbuck repeated, watching the readouts on the computer spike sharply as it picked up an enormous energy wavelon.

"Can you trace it?" Dayton asked. "This thing is pegging the metre."

"No, sir," Sagaris replied, shaking his head helplessly as he tried to do just that, as well as figure out the Earthman's idiom. "I don't understand why we can't get a lock on it."

"Because we can't calibrate it," Apollo replied. "We have no standard to compare it to."

"How can our limited technology be expected to align with something spiritual in nature?" Ama intoned, before her head jolted back as if she had been hit, and her eyes snapped open. "The Prison Barge. Check the Prison Barge."

"The Prison Barge?" Apollo echoed in confusion.

"Scanning now," Dorado told them, nodding as his fingers flew over controls that he hadn't handled for three sectars, with an instinctive familiarity. "I'm not reading anything out of the ordinary."

"Open a line with the Prison Barge," Dayton ordered.

Apollo glanced at the Earthman, but said nothing. Then the speaker went silent once more.

"The signal is gone again, Commander," Sagaris reported helpfully, as they all watched the energy spike level out. "It only lasted . . . ten point eight microns."

Dayton nodded briefly, his eyes searching the scanner for any signs of a reoccurrence. Hoping . . .

"Commander, I have Captain Elgan of the Prison Barge on the comm," Pierus told him, and then spoke into his headset. "Go ahead, Captain."

"Captain Elgan here." His voice was brisk. Distracted.

"Captain, we've detected a large energy wavelon of undetermined nature, that appears to have been concentrated at your position. Report," Dayton requested.

"Lord Sagan," Elgan sputtered. "Could_ that_ have anything to do with . . .?"

"Captain?" Dayton snapped expectantly, waiting.

"It's Baltar," Elgan replied.

"_What_'s Baltar?" replied Dayton, wondering what the Traitor of Colonial Humanity was up to now.

"Security just reported in, Commander. He's escaped."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"I really can't explain it, Commander Adama," Captain Elgan reported, shaking his head as he regarded the image of the Fleet Commander from the Bridge of the Prison Barge. "Impossible as it sounds, we've searched every millimetron of the Prison Barge, and checked all the surveillance feed, including the airlock logs, with no results. There's no sign of Baltar. One centon he was confirmed as secure in his cell, and the next he was gone without a trace."

Adama let out a long sigh, his frustration at the impossible situation barely contained. "Where could he go, Captain? There were no ships launched from the Prison Barge. . . None logged as being in the area . . . Recorded telemetry comes up blank . . . He _has_ to be aboard, _somewhere_."

"Commander, I tell you, he's _gone_," Elgan repeated, his own voice betraying his aggravation. "Look at the vid feed yourself. Your Bridge should have received it by now. It simply shows him standing in his cell, and then . . . _disappearing_!"

Adama frowned, turning to study the surveillance vid for the tenth time. It showed Baltar, first sitting on the bench in his cell, then rising to his feet. He appeared to be speaking, though no one was visible, his features curious, then almost radiant, as he began to reach out in thin air for something that nobody could identify. Then he simply vanished. "Croft?" Adama asked his executive officer.

"My first thought is to check with the Prison Barge's Security, Commander, just to confirm all data," Croft replied, leaning over the console that displayed the recording on a loop setting. His hand stroked his jaw, his fingers running idly over the scar under his left eye. "Surveillance can be tampered with, images superimposed. I agree with you. Baltar has to be somewhere aboard, in hiding, just waiting for some opportunity . . . most likely previously arranged. We have to be vigilant. We can't let down our guard. That's what he's waiting for."

Adama nodded. "Send the vid feed to Corporal Komma, and have him analyse it. If anybody can detect whether or not it's been tampered with, it'll be him."

"Yes, sir," Croft nodded. "I'll have Boomer shuttle over, just to look things over."

"Agreed," Adama nodded, not missing the irony that Boomer had been on a shuttle with Baltar the last time the Traitor of Humanity had tried to escape. That time his plan had been thwarted, although the Borellian Nomen and Eastern Alliance officers in league with him had made good their escape. An outcome that still rankled, he had to admit.

"Commander," said a voice. Adama turned.

"Yes?"

"Commander Cain standing by, Commander, on the Fleet Comm Line" Omega reported from his station.

"Put him through," Adama turned as his old friend's image came up on screen.

"Adama, we're picking up another energy surge at Psi Seven Mark Four," Cain reported. "Those are the same coordinates the original signal came from. The _Pegasus_ needs a good run to blow the space dust out of her energizer . . ."

"Negative, Cain." Adama shook his head, smiling slightly, as Cain instinctively tried to manoeuvre his Battlestar back into the "field", before the _Endeavour_. "Commander Dayton is ready to ship out, we'll simply move his departure up by a few centars . . ."

"Adama, as a gesture of courtesy, perhaps we should assign the Earthman to something a little more . . . predictable," Cain returned, trying to be diplomatic. Then he smiled. "Lord Sagan alone knows what this thing is, and you and I both know, _he's_ not going to tell us."

The method was familiar, but subtler than the days before the Juggernaut had had his stroke. A suggestion. Some humour. Subtle coercion. The great warrior had been humbled somewhat when he had found himself looking at life as a handicapped civilian, after his injuries sustained during a battle with the Cylons. "Cain, the Prison Barge still can't find any trace of Baltar. If somehow while he was on that Base Ship that we destroyed over Planet 'P' . . ." Adama's voice trailed off, as he began to wonder if this signal was of Cylon origin. He exchanged a brief glance with Croft.

"You're wondering if somehow Baltar has been communicating with the Cylons?" Cain voiced the concern aloud. He grinned. "How? By banging his head against the hull? No, he _has_ to be still aboard, Adama. We'll find the mong-raker. My gut is telling me that this signal is something else. Something we haven't come across before."

"Regardless, if that signal_ is_ of Cylon origin, then the_ Endeavour_ is better equipped to handle it. And, even if it isn't, I don't believe Commander Dayton would appreciate any gestures of _courtesy_, any more than you or I would," Adama returned pointedly. "He's more than capable of dealing with this, Cain."

"I hope you're right, Adama," Cain returned with a frown. "Cain out."

It was a departure from the straight forward shakedown cruise that they had been planning for the_ Endeavour_, but assigning the _Pegasus_ to investigate the long-range signal when the Covert Operations Ship was positioned to ship out, would be no less than a slap in the face, and a vote of no confidence in Dayton's abilities as a leader.

"Omega, get me Commander Dayton."

"Right away, Commander."

----------

Baltar felt as though he had been turned inside out, and then right side in again, several times, as though once wasn't enough. Stabbing pains shot through his head, making him see stars. Nausea washed over him in waves, causing his stomach to convulse, and the acrid taste of bile to clear the back of his throat. His head hurt, his guts hurt . . . as a matter of fact, everything hurt. From his toenails to his hair. He coughed, moaning in discomfort, and wiping at his runny nose, as he spat the vile liquid onto the cold, damp ground that he had collapsed on.

_Ground?_

"He looks well enough . . . sort of," a harsh, craggy voice murmured from the darkness.

"And you, Caradoc? How do _you_ feel?" another asked, closer by.

"Well enough. I'd say it's safe, Eirys. There were no adverse effects on _my_ part. I'd say the Doublewalker that crosses realms is the one who feels the effects."

"I had to be sure, Caradoc. It was brave of you to volunteer, General."

"I pledged my life to King Byrne, and to his sons. It is nothing. Now let's get a look at him. I'm curious."

"I hope you won't be disappointed."

Baltar opened his eyes, as rough hands turned him over, positioning him on his back. He groaned again, pressing his hand to his throbbing head, and trying to focus. What little he could see was spinning, only making him feel worse. There had been an intense light that had blinded him while his body was wracked with pain, and this subsequent gloomy nightfall took a few moments to adjust to. He closed his eyes, hoping the misery would abate. "Where am I? Who are you? What happened?" he demanded in a shaky voice.

"By Llyr, he looks just like me! Well, before . . ." Caradoc grunted.

"Like you, but less magnificent somehow, General Caradoc. Smaller? Softer? Less hairy, certainly," Eirys added.

The resulting laughter grated on Baltar's nerves, especially considering the subject matter. "How dare you mock me? You . . . you . . ." his mouth dried to dust as the spots before his eyes began to clear, and he found himself regarding two of the ugliest Beings he had ever seen before. About a metron and a half in height, with long, dark, coarse hair sticking out in every direction, much of it coming from the long, pointed, bumpy noses on their hideous faces, they looked like the Trolls from the grim tales that were told to children in his day. Short, stubby arms and legs were covered in ragged clothes, and a layer of grime completed the ensemble. "Dear God . . ."

"What is your name, Doublewalker?" the slightly smaller troll asked him as she—at least he presumed it was a "she" with the tattered skirts it wore—tucked something into her skirt.

"Doublewalker?" he asked, as he looked around. He appeared to be in some kind of underground passageway. The walls were wet and dripping, and torches provided the woefully insufficient light. Somehow the fact that he was no longer in a cell on the Prison Barge seemed overshadowed by his current circumstances. "What's a doublewalker?"

"A twin spirit, of course," she replied, as though he was a little bit dense. She looked at her companions, and shook her head. "Your name, Doublewalker?"

"Baltar," he allowed, trying to digest the information. As unlikely as it seemed, these Beings obviously believed that he and the grotesque little troll were somehow associated, but he wasn't about to argue with them in such a vulnerable position. "How did I come to be here? Wherever_ here_ is . . . " Perhaps any moment now he would awaken from this strange dream.

"I brought you here," the female replied. "I am Eirys." She straightened to her full height, pausing as if for effect. "A great and powerful Sorceress."

"_You_?" Baltar replied, managing to get a distinct note of derision into his tone. He seriously doubted she was a great and powerful _anything_. Maybe he'd eaten something he shouldn't have, and was suffering the consequences? "How? Why?"

"To see if you'd survive," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Wha . . . say that again," Baltar gulped. His delivery to this place had been some kind of . . . _test_. But in preparation for what?

"Crossing realms is complicated, Baltar. I was unsure you'd survive," Eirys shrugged. "I'm pleased that you did, though."

The Traitor of Humanity digested that a moment. "Your concern is overwhelming."

"What do we do with him now that he _has_ survived?" Caradoc asked testily.

"Well, you have a vested interest in keeping him alive, if the legends are true," Eirys replied. "Besides, I don't know if I can send him back, thus we'd best keep him with us, lest he fall into the hands of the Cylons."

"Cylons?" Baltar's head shot up, and he instantly regretted it. Once more, his vision swam, and his stomach threatened to betray him. "There are Cylons here?"

"You know of the Cylons?" Caradoc snapped, grabbing Baltar by his tunic, pulling him to his knees with surprising strength, and menacing him with a dagger at his throat. At that point Baltar realized that a musky scent that had been invading his senses, adding to his discomfort, was actually coming from these creatures.

"Oh, I know_ all_ about the Cylons," Baltar nodded, beginning to feel the tides turning in his favour. He pushed the blade casually aside. "Are they friend or foe to you?"

"They are the sworn enemy of the Angylions," Caradoc sneered, letting go of the man. "They have savaged our world, enslaved our people. How do_ you_ know them?"

"They savaged my world too. _Murdered_ my people." His tone rose dramatically. They stood by in rapt attention as Baltar climbed to his feet, a hand on the cavern wall for support. He towered over them. "They brought our civilization to its knees, and forced the remnants of our society to flee for our very lives, on an exodus across the universe. Still, they hunt us like animals!" He let out a deep forced breath, covering his face from their view for a moment, before rubbing his eyes wearily. Then he continued more quietly. "By necessity and circumstance, I managed to single-handedly infiltrate their defences . . . trying to regain _some _advantage for my people . . ." Baltar paused as they looked at him curiously.

"You are also a great general, Baltar?" Eirys asked, looking between him and Caradoc, exploring the parallels of their lives.

"A commander and bureautician. I once sat upon the Council of the Twelve, our people's ruling body, and commanded my own ship of war," he offered. "A high distinction amongst my people." Then he frowned, considering his words carefully as he drew on his lifelong skills as an orator. "It's a long story, which I'm sure you would find tedious. Suffice it to say, I know how they think . . . how they're programmed to react to a situation. I know their weaknesses." He smiled tentatively, ignoring the throbbing at the back of his head. "If the Cylons are your enemy, I would offer my services as your ally." He bowed slightly. It was so much better than any number of alternatives that might involve being the slave, prisoner, or evening snack of a race of trolls.

"Why would you do that?" Caradoc asked. He took no pains to conceal his obvious scepticism.

"If I am truly your . . . twin spirit . . . your _Doublewalker_, as you call it . . . then it seems natural to me that we_ should_ be allies," Baltar raised his eyebrows enquiringly. If he could manage to deceive the Quorum of Twelve, and the likes of President Adar and Commander Adama, then surely he could bamboozle these crude and backward Beings. "Especially since we share the same disdain for the Cylons. Or am I mistaken?"

"In truth, this is the first time I have endeavoured to bring a Doublewalker to Morlais," Eirys admitted.

"Morlais?" Baltar asked, vaguely wondering what had happened to necessitate them bringing him here. _Patience. All will be revealed in due time_. "Where is Morlais? Which star system?"

"I cannot answer that. I do not know how," Eirys replied. "I can only tell you that in the vastness of the Infinite, that your people exist in one realm, and mine in another. The Nonentity separates us."

"The Nonentity?" Baltar asked, sensing the reverence with which they referred to this place. "I know of no such . . . place. What is it?"

"The place of Mystics."

"Mystics?" Baltar tried to understand. "Who are the Mystics?"

"I sense that your society is very backward, Baltar," Carodoc opined.

"_General_," Eirys raised a hand. "Remember, we have removed this Being from all that is familiar to him. His world may be as different from ours as Odreds are from Angylions. But he knows about our enemies, and in return, he has offered to be our ally against the Cylons. Have a little patience."

"A little patience is _all _I have left," muttered Caradoc. "The Cylons and that Mystic, Iblis, have taken everything else from me. A pestilence upon them all!"

It took all the self-control that he had to contain Baltar's surprise.

_Iblis!_

----------

_May the Lords of Kobol be with you._

Adama's final words after delivering Dayton's orders, resonated with him still. The new Colonial commander took a deep breath, his excitement barely contained, and turned in the Control Centre to address his crew. "Okay boys and girls, we just got our orders from the Grand Poobah, and we're shipping out. Time to fire up the boilers."

This was it! All their efforts and hard work finally realized! The _Endeavour_'s shakedown cruise was about to begin, and it wasn't just a pleasure cruise around the galaxy, but a mission with a purpose! He had half expected the venerable commanding officer of the Battlestar _Galactica_ to give Cain this mission, when these strange energy wavelons were detected. But to Dayton's surprise, his arguments on his own behalf, and that of his crew, hadn't even had to be voiced. Then again, the fact that Adama's son was his executive officer, and his hasty mention of Ama detecting the energy wavelons before their own scanners had, might have tipped the scale in their favour. He forced back the unmanly giggle of joy that was threatening to burble forth, out of control.

"Grand _who_?" Malus asked.

"_Poobah_. Vernacular for The Chief. The Great and All-Powerful. The Big Cheese." Malus just looked at him, in that annoying way. "Okay? File that under Earth culture, and cross reference both opera and the Flintstones, _Il Faro_." He paused to slap a hand on Ensign Vesta's shoulder. "Lay in the course. Our heading, Ensign, will be Psi Seven Mark Four."

"Psi Seven Mark Four," echoed Vesta from navigation. Her fingers moved across her board with a fluid quickness. "Course laid in and on the board, sir."

"Commander," Apollo inserted, walking to the navigation station. "Instead of taking a direct route, why don't we veer off from the Fleet first?"

"So if we _do_ come across Cylons, or any other bad guys, a straight vector won't lead them right back here," Dayton nodded, feeling idiotic for not thinking of it himself. The fact that Apollo thought of it kicked the other up another notch in his estimation.

"Not only that, but if this . . . energy source _can_ scan us, it could have already identified an _Abaddon_-class Base Ship in the Fleet. If we're approaching them from another vector, then they might not associate us as connected with the Fleet. At least not right away."

"Good point," Dayton frowned, nonplussed that there was the potential that they'd already lost their greatest advantage over the Cylons, the element of surprise that it was Humans manning this Cylon capital ship. They might as well do it now. "Course correction. Tau Nine Mark Sixty, Negative.

"Tau Nine Mark Sixty, Negative, Commander," replied Vesta.

"Malus, I want three consecutive coarse corrections in the next centar, to get us to that energy source. Without dropping out of warp . . . I mean lightspeed, to do so."

"Any particular interval, Commander?" the IL asked.

"As random as possible, " Dayton added. "No sense in making it easy for anyone who might be behind that energy wave. Now," he turned to look at the vast collection of people amassed there. Dorado wasn't even on duty yet, Ama clearly didn't belong there, Lia and Luana weren't even assigned to the Bridge, Porter, Baker and Ryan looked like they were going to break out the pompoms, and Starbuck, in particular, was beginning to turn a nasty shade of green, which wasn't an approved Command colour, at least not in _this_ man's military. "Anybody without clearance, or not actually on _duty_ here, can get off my Bridge, or suffer the consequences." He tried not to smile.

"Does that mean I have to go to my room, Dad?" said Ryan, as respectful as ever of discipline and the chain of command.

"With a spanking, and without supper, yes," replied Dayton, neither looking at him nor missing a beat. "And you, _Vanilla Bean_, get yourself back to the Life Station, and get something for that migraine before you puke all over my shiny, new, and recently updated circuitry."

"That's _Captain_ . . ." Starbuck murmured, his eyes at half-mast, and a hand cupping his eye as though he was protecting it somehow. He winced with the effort of speaking.

"_Captain_ Vanilla Bean," Dayton amended his order, moving to put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "And hey, not to be needling you, you understand," Starbuck snorted on cue, "but if I was you, I'd stay away from those acupuncture treatments, kid. They don't seem to agree with you."

"Listen Old Man, you're the one who o_rdered_ me . . ." the strike captain attempted, as Lu slipped an arm around him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah . . ." Dayton gave him a gentle push towards the hatchway. "Suck it up, buttercup. You were in trouble up to your seventy's retro hair style with these Empyreans long before _I _ever came along."

"He has a point, Bucko," Apollo reminded him.

"With friends like _you_ two," Starbuck murmured, as he was led away by his wife and sister-in-law, with an Empyrean Necromancer determinedly bringing up the rear, "who needs Cylons?"

"A question that has confounded philosophers and thinkers throughout the ages," Ama posed.

"Well, if you really want to examine that issue, I'm sure we could reassemble a centurion or two," smiled Dayton.

"Hey, don't put yourself out . . . on my account," replied Starbuck, his voice increasingly tremulous. Dayton, in turn, curled a lip at him, and pointed towards the Core. "Okay, okay, I'm going."

"Do you need further assistance, Starbuck?" Malus asked, turning towards the warrior. "I know that Human females are rather weak, and unlikely to be helpful in the event that you fall ill."

"What do you want to do, Mal? Carry me?" Starbuck muttered, reigning in Luana as she harrumphed in annoyance, and then turned towards the IL threateningly.

"I would consider it an honour," Malus volunteered, his lights flashing with pleasure. _Too_ much pleasure. "You know that I would do _anything_ within my abilities. . ."

Starbuck abruptly raised a hand, his hand now visibly shaking. "No, no. I'm fine. I'm sure you're needed on the Bridge. Right, Day . . .uh, _Commander_?"

"Right. _Heel_, Malus." Dayton replied. That cyborg was far too concerned about their fair-haired strike captain, and had been curiously drawn to Starbuck since their first meeting. It had been cybernetic love at first byte, or more likely, a glitch in one of the IL's systems. "Now get out of here, Starbuck, or I'll carry you to the Life Station, myself."

"Aye, sir."

Yeah, the kid pretty much had to be suffering to be calling him "sir". Dayton glanced conspiratorially at Ama, knowing by her quick nod that she would attend Starbuck, making sure he actually arrived in the infirmary. "Okay, now, let's get this show on the road. Communications."

"Sir?" replied Cadet Pierus.

"Inform the Foundry Ship that we are ready for plugs out." The young man just looked at him, brows furrowing. "We are ready to detach."

"Aye, sir. Foundry Ship replies all tethers and umbilical lines detaching."

"Engineering?" Dayton turned to Ensign Xochiquetzel, her eager young face looking up at him expectantly. Now this kid _really_ needed a nickname!

"All umbilical lines detached. Confirmed." There were green lights across the board. "We are now one one-hundred percent internal power."

"Excellent. Helm, manoeuvring thrusters at twenty-five. Take us out."

"Thrusters aye, sir."

Slowly, the _Endeavour _began to move away from the Foundry Ship, as her thrusters fired. Gradually, she gained momentum, as her power rose. She arced away from the Fleet, continuing to gain speed, switching over to her main reactors, till the other ships, including both Battlestars, were but small lights in her wake.

"We are clear of all Fleet traffic, Commander," reported Sagaris. "All scanners at maximum sweep ahead."

"Very good." Inside, Dayton was about to burst, as he realized _this_ was the moment. He would actually get to say it! "Helm. Lightspeed, now. Maximum factor."

_William Shatner would be so proud!_

"Lightspeed, now," reported the Helmsman. With the _bleep _of a few buttons, and a rising throb from the decks, the _Endeavour _surged ahead, becoming a smear of light, and tearing a hole in space. "We are now in lightspeed, Commander. Speed is at Factor one point five, and accelerating."

"Good." Dayton studied the instruments. Their speed was curving up nicely, and all ship's systems were in the green, everything exactly as expected. "When we get to maximum safety cruising speed, keep us there."

"Yes, sir."

"And I want updated ETA's at the source of the signal, updated every half hou . . . centar."

"Yes, sir."

"Commander?" asked Malus. Dayton turned to the IL.

"Yeah?"

"What does 'heel' mean?"

_----------_

In the Central Computer Room of the Battlestar, Komma was hard at work on the data sent over from the Prison Barge. He ran it several times, before determining that it had not been altered in any way that he could detect. This data was clean. He began by applying a variety of filters to the images. No results. He _hmm'd_ a few times, then broke it up into its constituent wavelons, running each one separately through the Buffered Telemetry Demodulator several times. Nothing! Shape to shade algorithms. Nothing. Conversion to 3-D. Nothing. Image-plane multidither sensing to obtain wavefront-correction control signal . . .

Damn! This was getting frustrating! There had to be _something_! A man did not just vanish in plain sight. Things connected, and this was entirely without . . .

Or was it? He suddenly remembered a bizarre energy pattern that he had seen cross his instruments earlier. At first, he'd shrugged it off as one of the things one runs across in space. Random, phantom electrical interference, usually meaningless. Talk about grasping at straws! But, if he was right . . .

"Holy Sagan's socks!" he muttered, as the data scrolled up his screen. "No way!" But it was . . . He ran it five more times, just to be certain. He shook his head, swallowing, not quite sure how he would summarize his conclusions for the Fleet commander. He reached for the telecom.

"Bridge? Commander Adama please!"

_----------_

This was unbelievable! Starbuck's shoulder felt the best it had been in sectars, but the front of his head was going to explode at any moment. Each step he took towards the Life Station was debilitating, stabbing pains shooting through his skull. If anything, it was getting worse with each passing moment, not better. He staggered, groaning as he leaned against the bulkhead, squeezing his eyes shut against the spinning world around him, and taking a steadying breath before he lost his primaries all over the deck.

"Come here, son," Ama said, her gruff tone almost motherly as she stepped in front of him.

"_Ama_ . . ." Starbuck muttered irritably, but he simply didn't have the will to pull away as she placed her fingers on his temples, drawing his forehead to hers, firmly, but gently. From behind him, he could feel Lu's hands on his shoulders, reminding him that she was there as well.

"Shush now," Ama replied soothingly. "Let me help. Lia, Luana," she added, "form the triune."

It was that familiar situation that left him torn between his implicit trust in the Empyrean Necromancer, and that niggling uncertainty mixed with a little fear over a situation that just wasn't . . _. normal. _At least as he usually defined it, for it was far beyond his control. Lu and Lia joined hands, encircling him, gently pulling him away from the bulkhead, as Ama remained firmly attached to his forehead. He knew that the sister's free hands would be resting on their godmothers' to complete the triune, and that they believed that the unification of the three Empyrean Talismans they all wore invoked and fortified the great powers of the Goddess Triquetra; Maiden, Mother and Crone to the Empyrean People. It would have been amusing, if he wasn't suffering the worst headache he could ever imagine.

He swallowed down the acrid taste of his own saliva that was burning the back of his throat, and took a deep breath, feeling some of the pain begin to slowly recede as he did so. Then a warm, hazy sensation, that wasn't altogether unpleasant, began to envelop him. It almost felt as though he was being lifted up, and left to float in a comforting cloud of mysticism. _Or_ his own scepticism, which in retrospect he wore more comfortably. Still, if he opened his eyes, he would expect to see endless fields of sun-dappled wildflowers, or an infinite skyscape of twinkling stars spread out before him. But somehow, breaking this spell seemed like a bad idea just now.

"Better?" Ama asked, her voice flowing through him with each breath.

Her breathing was now perfectly matched with his own, which had calmed considerably. He could also hear his own heartbeat, and could imagine those of the women, all in perfect sync with his own pulse, or so it seemed. With a soft sigh, Starbuck nodded, still reluctant to open his eyes. Even close-eyed, somehow he could still "see" Lu smiling behind him.

"Look at me, son," Ama told him, releasing him, and then reaching forward to tenderly push his hair from his eyes.

Somewhere over the last yahren, this gruff, forthright, vexing woman, with her gapped-tooth smile, and her unkempt hair had ceased to shock or horrify him. In fact, Starbuck realized that now when he looked upon her, that the beauty he saw within her, came from his unequivocal affection for the Empyrean mystic. An affection that had sort of snuck up on him, until he suddenly realized it was there, fully formed. Her familiar grey eyes studied him intently, concern lurking in their depths.

"Thanks, Ama," he nodded, feeling as though he had just awakened from a deep sleep. He stretched out his limbs, doing a quick assessment of the aches and pains that he had become accustomed to living with. His headache was gone, and his shoulder felt much as it had prior to his injuries received on Planet 'P'. "What did you . . ." He looked into Ama's eyes, and the words died on his lips. "No. No, never mind."

Ama grinned at him. "You'd rather not know. I understand." There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Wasn't life boring before you happened upon us?"

Her smile was infectious. "Not really . . ."

"Liar," she returned, before leaning closer and touching his arm. "Starbuck, humour an old lady, and go put on your Empyrean Talisman."

She had made a gift of the talisman to Starbuck sectars ago before he set out with Apollo and Lia on a mission to rescue Luana and Sheba from a long-range patrol they had disappeared on. Lia had told him then that the talisman granted protection and wisdom, and was supposed to give its wearer an ability to see with clarity and truthfulness. He had worn it for a while after the mission, more from sentimentality than any real belief in its supposed powers, but in all honesty, it had been relegated to the bottom of his locker and forgotten after that. Ironically, an old burn, suffered from a close-range laser blast while wearing the talisman had left its mark, so in truth, the emblem of the Empyrean Talisman was etched in him permanently. Absently, he fingered the scar, through the fabric of his tunic.

Luana looked between them worriedly. "Ama, what's going on?"

The necromancer sighed. "I sense her presence, lingering like a bad aftertaste, _within_ Starbuck."

Luana bristled, her gaze flying between her godmother and husband. "What do you mean, '_within_ Starbuck'?"

Starbuck immediately raised his hands innocently. "_I_ didn't do anything!"

His wife looked unconvinced.

"Ama, do you mean the same spirit that you detected this morning, also has connected with Starbuck?" Lia asked. "That . . ."

"Yes. I believe it is her presence that caused Starbuck's headache," the Necromancer agreed. "The questions being, how many others has she probed, and what is she searching for?"

"Besides Baltar," Lu added. "And we don't even know what's happened to him."

"Can you recall anything that might be helpful, Starbuck?" Lia asked him.

"Uhh . . ." Well, what was he _supposed_ to say? That perhaps the disturbingly realistic erotic dream he'd had of some gorgeous blonde enticing him for purely carnal pleasure, was instead possibly some evil spirit that was passing by on its way to the Prison Barge . . . Not a conversation he wanted to have with his wife, sister-in-law, and most especially a godmother that could do nasty things to him. Visions of being turned into a porcine or a block of wood flashed through his head. He sidestepped the question. "Ama, you're the one who told us to check out the Prison Barge. What exactly does this . . . _entity_ have to do with Baltar's disappearance?"

"I noticed you didn't use the word 'escape'," Lia inserted quizzically.

"Since the last time Baltar escaped, that Barge has been locked up tighter than an Otori virgin . . ." He winced, realizing it wasn't the best illustration of his point in the present company, but decided to blunder on towards safer territory. "Hey, Boomer and I were assigned to tightening the security on the Barge, and finding flaws within the existing protocols. We went over every centimetron of her, making sure something like that couldn't happen again, then put it all to the test. Even with all our military training, we couldn't escape."

"Ah, I see," Luana smiled. "So you're certain that you and Boomer couldn't have overlooked something . . ."

"Well . . ." he shrugged, smiling confidently. He decided it was damn unlikely. "It's damn unlikely."

"It's true, _Boomer_ doesn't miss much," Lia teased him.

"What about it, Ama?" Starbuck repeated, looking back to the Necromancer. "What exactly _are_ we up against here?"

"I wish I knew exactly, Starbuck," she replied, her brows knitting in concern. "I can't help but wonder if this signal we're following is some kind of lure . . ."

"Lords, Ama! Those are the kind of suspicions that _might_ be worth mentioning to the Commander!" Starbuck returned heatedly. Dayton was rushing headlong into what he thought was a challenging first mission, not a baited trap! He looked back towards the Control Centre, ready to pull the Necromancer back in there to explain. After all, by the looks of things, all they had lost so far was Baltar, something that no one was exactly broken up over. Was that_ really _such a tragedy?

"All the same, son, I believe that whatever is about to happen, _needs_ to happen," Ama continued. "It's difficult to explain."

It wasn't the first time Starbuck felt as though he had been "enlightened", just to be plunged back into the darkness. "Ama, I don't know about Empyrean, but generally in o_ur_ history, flying into a trap is a bad thing, _without_ exception."

"Destiny, Starbuck. Often in life, our course is predetermined," she returned elusively.

He shook his head vehemently. "Not this kid." He tapped his chest. "I'll chart my own course, if it's all the same to you."

She merely smiled enigmatically, nodding, and then murmuring quietly upward, as he made to return to the Bridge, Lu and Lia on his heels.

----------

Adama could feel his face drain of colour as Komma's words penetrated his brain. "You're saying that Baltar vanished at exactly the same time as the energy wavelon was detected in the position of the Prison Barge?"

"To the micron, Commander," Corporal Komma told him over the comm link. "A complete one to one correlation. I _was_ toying with the idea that that signal was sent to scramble the security systems on the Prison Barge, but all their surveillance equipment fully checked out. It wasn't tampered with. What we saw actually happened. One centon Baltar was there, the next he was gone. Now I'm convinced the signal was something else, sir. It definitely originated from _outside_ the Fleet, and registered as some kind of mysterious phantom interference. I still can't correlate it to any recognized energy signatures or frequencies."

"Thank you, Corporal," Adama said, turning to Croft. "Keep on it. Anything you can think of."

"I will, Commander," replied Komma.

Adama terminated the link. He turned to Croft, recent commanding officer of the _Celestra_, and veteran of the Arcta mission. "Colonel, what's the latest from the Prison Barge?"

"Boomer just reported in, Commander," Croft informed him, a hand to his headset. "They've examined every millimetron of Baltar's cell, and not only have they confirmed that it was never reopened once Baltar was last secured, but they also can't find any sign of any 'remains' of a body. They also examined the surrounding cells, as well as the entire deck that he was on. Same results."

Croft had recently raised the point that the energy wavelon might actually be some kind of weapon, designed to incinerate an intended victim at long range. As such, Boomer had been instructed to look for residual organic matter, however miniscule. Adama let out a breath of relief. Although Baltar's inexplicable disappearance was alarming, the alternative of such a weapon reaching out across space, and incinerating enemies at will, was a terrifying one. Especially, if it was the Cylons who controlled it. Fleeting memories of the Ravishol Pulsar flashed across his mind.

"Commander," Croft added, "It's beginning to look more and more like Baltar was physically removed from the Prison Barge. I don't know how, but I can't see any other explanation at this point, sir."

Adama nodded, his mouth tight. "That almost raises more questions than it answers, Croft." He looked over at Rigel. "Is the _Endeavour_ still within communications range?"

"No, Commander," Rigel replied. "She exceeded comm range fourteen centons ago."

He nodded soberly.

"Father," inserted Athena, "how could Baltar be . . . physically removed? From a sealed metal room, surrounded by guards? What could do that?"

"Nothing that I'm familiar with, Athena," the commander admitted as he wondered what kind of mission he'd assigned his first-born son and the _Endeavour_'s young crew to. "God only knows."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Dayton didn't know _what_ to think.

On the one hand, all was going surprisingly well with his new command. The ship was performing admirably on her shakedown cruise, aside from a few minor teething troubles. They went into and dropped out of lightspeed within the calculated parameters. Ship's systems were operating as hoped. Both fire and damage control were going to getting top marks. All offensive and defensive batteries were on-line and working. As far as he knew, the medical department was humming nicely. And of the four squadrons aboard, two, _Phoenix_ and _Sphinx,_ had been certified, and activated. Flight ops were getting up to speed, and the PT program for the newer cadets aboard was going according to the book. In all but the last, Malus the IL had been of enormous help.

However, on the other hand,"the Book", be it Colonial or the U.S. Air Force Academy manual, didn't address the mystical. Oh, he was as spiritual as the next guy, but never in his professional life had he needed to factor in the guidance of a "spiritual advisor" while making tactical decisions. It was clear that Apollo was thinking along a similar vein, and Starbuck was _no_ help, clearly struggling between complete denial that there could be something mystical out there responsible for Baltar's disappearance, and knowing better than anyone that the Empyrean Necromancer, like it or not,had a proven track record. The others were sitting on the fence.

"Recommendations?" Dayton asked of his officers and his valued colleagues, as they met in the War Room. Just how seriously did they take all this? Half a universe away from Earth, he might just have to follow _their_ lead.

"ETA to the calculated source of the signal is seven point nine eight three centars," Apollo reminded them, checking his chrono. "If this really _is_ some kind of trap, and admittedly I'm more inclined to think of Cylons than _entities,_ biological or spiritual, then we should send out a patrol to investigate."

"Any indication of whether or not they, whoever _they_ are, can track us while we're in hyperdrive?" Baker asked.

"Given that we were able to do that of Colonial ships over a centi-yahren ago, and vice versa," observed Malus, "it may well be prudent to assume that whoever is controlling this mysterious energy can do so as well."

"Status of our ECM suite?" asked Dayton.

"All indicators nominal," said Dorado. "We're as screened as we can possibly be, Commander."

"Isolated from the Fleet, and coming in from a different vector, we might just get away with it," said Porter. "They'll think we're Cylon."

"And using that modified electro-larynx that Baker developed, if our patrol communicates with them, they might just fall for it," Dayton nodded. It was Baker that had pointed out that the Cylons sounded almost identical to his uncle, a cancer survivor that had had his larynx surgically removed in the eighties. The medical equipment that had given Earth patients back a voice, before more sophisticated methods came along, was perfect to mimic a Cylon, a necessity for a Covert Operations Ship. Once they had modified it with the Cylon voice modulator, inserting it right into the Hybrids' comm system, it was the perfect deception. Add to that the Cylon code they had all become proficient with transmitting, both the squadrons and Bridge crew were ready.

"Yeah, but what if it's _not_ Cylon?" Starbuck reminded them, raking his fingers through his hair. "What if Ama's right, and this _is_ a trap? Some kind of . . . _entity_?" He frowned in distaste as he forced the word out. "Luring us in, like an insecton to a crawlon's web."

"What do you mean 'we', pale face," Ryan quipped, clarifying that the greatest risk would be taken by the strike captain's wing.

"Entity, huh?" Dayton tried to get his mind around it. Sure he believed in God, angels, and even evil spirits to a certain extent, but the whole necromancy thing sort of left him feeling . . . _uncomfortable_. It reminded him of some of those sick puppies back on Earth that practiced various forms of what was termed Occultism. "Might be nice if John dropped by about now, and filled us in on a thing or two."

The "angel" had been conspicuously absent since Dayton's arrival in the Fleet, when John had averted an irrational decision that Dayton had made to destroy the _Galactica_, using the immense power of the Dynamos at the pirate asteroid. After that, Dayton had discovered that the angel had at one point appeared to Starbuck and Apollo, and as recently as a few months ago to Dickins, before his friend piloted the NASA Space Shuttle, _Endeavour_, through a wormhole to Earth, assisted by Technician Hummer. Dayton even suspected that John had appeared when he had been nine years old, saving his life under still-mysterious circumstances. The angel's appearances were sporadic at best, and seemed inspired by near catastrophe, rather than desire on the part of any Human for heavenly guidance.

"Yeah well, I wouldn't count on John," Starbuck returned almost caustically. "He's already told us he's not permitted to interfere."

"Let's stick with the facts," Apollo interjected, getting them back on track. "We have an unknown energy source, Baltar's disappearance . . ."

"And an Empyrean Necromancer's word that they're related," Starbuck inserted reluctantly. Certainly apologetically.

"We might be better off to go in with the _Endeavour_," Dayton pondered, wishing he could just climb in the fighter and fly this mission himself. Putting other men's lives in jeopardy was something that had never sat well with him, and standing on the Bridge watching and waiting would be excruciating.

"Except that any traditional _Cylon_ Base Ship would send out a patrol to investigate something unusual like this," the colonel pointed out practically. "A Covert Operations Ship _is_ what we're supposed to be."

"You're right, Apollo," Dayton sighed, knowing the younger man's council was right on the money. "If we're going to talk the talk, we have to walk the walk." Dayton turned to Apollo. "Time till next course change?"

"Nine point six centons."

Dayton nodded, moving to the tactical board. There, the flashing dot that represented the _Endeavour _was set against the backdrop of this region of space. According to the plot, they would begin passing through a small solar system in just undersix centons. Interestingly, the system was already in the ship's data banks.

"Okay, we drop out of lightspeed once inside this system," the commander declared, indicating it on the plotting board. "We scan ahead, and see if whoever has found us or not. Assuming that goes well, we launch a patrol ahead, in the direction of the original signal source. If the ships _are_ picked up, it will look like a typical Cylon patrol." He looked around the room, both his stance and expression clearly inviting opinions and questions.

"How soon after we launch do you follow?" asked Starbuck.

"That will depend upon what you learn. If you are detected, I would prefer to keep our . . ." he waved a hand, indicating the entire ship, "presence and exact location a mystery as long as possible."

"Assuming they aren't already tracking us," countered Starbuck.

"True," replied the commander. "But we must select between options, and since there have been no more energy waves since departing the Fleet, I'm picking this one." Starbuck looked between Dayton and Apollo, before finally nodding. He'd put in his two cents, but after all was said and done, Dayton knew he'd follow orders. At least while they were standing right there beside him.

"Alright. Six Hybrids, twelve pilots," Starbuck glanced at his chrono. "I'll brief them. Anything else?"

"Your best pilots, Starbuck. Experience counts," Dayton reminded him.

"I'll take Giles and Lia, but I need to leave Jolly, Dietra and some of the others here to lead and support the other wings, if it comes to that," Starbuck informed them, having clearly thought all this though ahead of time. "I'd take Lu along, but fraternization rules preclude. . ." He sighed, letting the words die a death on his lips. He dredged up a smile.It wasn't his best, by any means. "Those kids have come a long way, we'll be fine."

Dayton narrowed his eyes. Having the right number of bodies to fill their fighters had looked fine when he had briefly examined the roster that his strike captain had thrust in front of his nose at some point, but now, when they were about to go on their first real mission, he could see that experience mattered. He glanced at Apollo, who had an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, as he considered their subordinate officer. That was all it took to make Dayton realize that he'd almost been 'Starbucked'. "Okay. Take Dietra, and put Luana on standby. As far as I'm concerned, if we're in a battle situation, we should be pulling her from the Wraith assignment."

"Aye, sir," Starbuck replied, a glimmer of something in his eyes, that might have been respect.

"Maintain radio silence unless attacked, aside from low-gain Cylon code between your ships, until you are back in range of us. If you do encounter Cylons, bullshit 'em for as long as possible. I know I can count on you for that, Starbuck. For this mission, your call sign will be _Cannonball One, Two,_ and so forth. Ours will be _Casey Jones.__"_

"Uhh. . ." Starbuck looked at him like he'd suddenly started speaking another language.

Dayton explained: "If there are Cylons in this area, and they should pick your transmissions on the way back, it will confuse them."

"Just _them_?" Starbuck returned pointedly. "You know, if we stick to the Cylon code and transmit with the vocal modulator, it _shouldn't_ be necessary. Those kids are going to be nervous enough as it is; this isn't the time to be firing cannonballs at them."

Ryan laughed aloud, abruptly stopping when Dayton scowled at him. "Well, _I_ thought it was funny."

"You would," Dayton returned.

"Actually," inserted Malus. "Since those words do not occur in any language known to the Alliance, they would not be deemed to be of Colonial origin."

"What's your point, Mal?" Starbuck asked.

"That in future, many Earth terms would make good codes. In fact, Yankee Doodle 101 might be worth studying for just such a purpose." Malus paused as Dayton scowled again. "Did I offend you in some way, Commander?"

"Yankee Doodle 101?" Dayton looked at Ryan, who shrugged _far _too innocently. "Never mind. All right. Point taken. Okay, Starbuck. Get going."

"Yes, sir."He turned to head for the hatch, stopping briefly as Apollo stepped in front of him.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Apollo murmured, gripping his friend's arm firmly.

"Like fly into a magnetic void? Or duel with Diabolis?" Starbuck returned, holding the grip and his friend's gaze for a long moment.

"Those didn't actually work out all that well," Apollo pointed out.

"Which goes to show that even the craziest plans can be pulled out of the fire in the long run," Starbuck chuckled, slapping the colonel on the shoulder as he passed by.

"Bridge," called Dayton. Vesta responded. "Take us out of lightspeed now, Ensign. Go to one-third sub-light velocity."

_"__Aye, Commander__,"_ replied the other.

--

On his way to the launch bay, Starbuck could feel the vibration and hear the alarm, as the _Endeavour _fell below lightspeed and switched over to standard propulsion. At this point, Dayton would be ordering a full sensor sweep, and all passive systems to maximum boost. If all bands remained clear, they would launch soon.

"All's ready, Starbuck!" Jenny reported as soon as he walked through the hatch. The chief warrant officer had officially requested the transfer over to the _Endeavour_, claiming she was looking forward to the "new challenges", but all the same, it was reassuring that the woman who had been charged with maintaining his squadron's fighters since he had first boarded the _Galactica_, would be continuing to do so with the new Hybrids.

"Any problems, Jenny?" Starbuck asked, knowing there had been a few glitches with the fighters, and that Jenny—along with the pilots—was most familiar with them.

"These six are the best we have," she replied, falling in alongside him as he paced towards his bird. Corporal Veeno was doing a thorough pre-flight check, which although was customary, Starbuck knew would be redundant when compared to the examination that his CWO would have already performed. The consummate professional, Dietra was doing a check of her own. "If you find anything wrong with them, Captain, I'll guarantee I'll run naked through the OC."

"Hmm . . . Hey, Veeno, anything?" he called, grinning. "Scratch in the paint? Fumarello butts under the seats?"

Jenny whacked Starbuck with a greasy rag, that she pulled from her coveralls. "Hey, I stayed up through my rest period, double-checking every bit of these babies against the schematics, knowing we were shipping out today," she announced proudly. "She's one hundred percent ready to go."

"You pulled an all-nighter? _Again_?" Starbuck remarked more seriously. "You've done one Hades of a job, Jenny. I owe you."

"You've owed me since _you_ were a greenhorn, Starbuck," she replied with a smile.

"Was I _ever _a greenhorn?" he reminisced, checking his datapad, then slipping it back into place.

"Oh, you were green, but you were so full of yourself that nobody realized it." She turned to look at Veeno, then back to Starbuck. "Least of all you."

"That was _talent_, Jenny," he grinned, knowing there would be an inevitable comeback. "Not ego."

"I've found over my career that the two usually go together, and if the pilot survives his ego in the first three sectars, that it usually settles down to something resembling self-confidence. Of course, _your_ ego is more resilient than most." She handed him his helmet, newly equipped to link to the ship's onboard computer, and transmit the Cylon voice modifier.

"Well, what can I say. If you've got it . . ." He looked up as Veeno finished his check, and closed up the ship's starboard engine cowling. The corporal crossed the tarmac, handed Jenny the datapad, and she signed off on it. He saluted both of them, and left.

"A good kid, Veeno," said Jenny, watching him depart. "Used to hotlink hovermobiles for a repo outfit before the Holocaust. Has a natural talent for machines. He qualified as aViper mechanic even faster than I did."

"You always had a knack for picking the best, Jen."

"Yeah? Then how did I manage to miss you?" she winked at him teasingly.

"We started off badly when I kept getting your birds shot up," smiled Starbuck. The first time she had been sympathetic, even concerned. The second time, she'd still been supportive. But the third time, when he'd blown an engine during battle, she'd raked him over the coals, telling him that if he didn't learn to treat his ship at least twice as good as he treated his women, that he'd have to deal with _her_. He could still picture her standing in the landing bay, hands on hips, and eyes flashing in anger. _And I can see right through that innocent smile,_ _Lieutenant_,_ so don't you even try to flash it my way _. . . "Cruel fate."

"Yeah. Tell me about it." She looked behind him, and nodded in that direction. "Base to Starbuck, check your blind spot."

"They call it a blind spot for a reason . . ."he glanced over his shoulder theatrically, stopping when he spotted Luana jogging to catch up, an Empyrean Talisman dangling from her right hand. He had tried to catch her after the briefing, but had been distracted by several questions from anxious youngsters seeking reassurance that they were ready, at least in his eyes, for the mission ahead. An inspiring pep talk later—mostly stolen from endless motivational words he had heard over the yahrens from superior officers, and one or two Earth war "moovees" with Colonial subtitles—and the uncertainty from their features was gone, replaced with that naïve determination that buoyed the spirits, and blustered its way past the usual first mission jitters. By then though, Lu had disappeared. "_Oh_ . . . thanks." He briefly touched Jenny's hand, as the chief warrant officer moved on to give the newlyweds some privacy. At least, all the privacy that could be gained in a busy launch bay. "I was . . ."

Luana launched herself into his arms, stopping his flow of words as she kissed him passionately, igniting emotions in him that weren't really supposed to be expressed in a launch bay. There was more than a little desperation in that kiss, and he met it with a little of his own. There was something about having a wife back on his base ship that inexorably changed the way he would look at missions, making him just a little bit more cautious out there, though he certainly hadn't lost his edge. Crew, fighters, and the constant din all but disappeared around them, as they lost themselves for a heavenly moment in each other.

"_Sheesh_!" somebody muttered.

Luana pulled back slightly, studying him for a moment before she put the leather cord of the talisman, very old and crafted of silver,over his head. With a slight smile, she tucked it under his tunic.

"You forgot it," she murmured, kissing him again tenderly.

"Didn't have time . . ." he returned a little lamely, but the truth was he _had_ forgotten Ama's plea that he wear it, while focussing on the mission. As usual, Ama had rectified this oversight.

"So when you find this energy source, you're not going to try to find some way to bottle it, and start selling it in the Fleet, are you?" she teased him, but her brown eyes were deep pools of concern.

"Hey, if it can replace tylium, I'd be a rich man," he returned, before pressing her against him a final time. He pulled her hair free from the tether that held it in place while she was on duty, carding his fingers through its silky lengths. "And _you'd_ be a rich woman."

"I already am, _Innamorato_," she murmured, tilting up her face, and inviting another kiss.

He was no fool.

"I'll see you soon," he told her a moment later.

"Not _too_ soon, I hope," she replied, and he knew she referred to their reserve squadrons launching in the event of a large scale attack or emergency.

"Exactly. The Empyrean Ale won't have a chill on it yet, if we get back _too_ quickly," he quipped, and turned to go. Had he_ ever _felt so reluctant to start a mission, or to leave his base ship? Usually, he was champing at the bit to get going. Was his reaction to do with Baltar's disappearance, Ama's warning, or the fact that he was leaving the most precious woman in the universe behind? Starbuck felt Lu press his fingers a final time before she let go, releasing him to fulfil his duty. He clenched his fist, acutely feeling their separation as if they had been rent in two. _Oh, get over it, Bucko!_

_"__Attention!__"_ boomed a voice over the PA. It was Pierus,in the Control Centre. "_Attention! __Phoenix pilots__, man your ships. Repeat, __Phoenix pilots_, _man your ships, and prepare to launch.__"_

"Okay, everybody!" he called out to the rest, shouting to be heard over the din. "Let's go!" Starbuck began to move towards his assigned ship, eyes resolutely ahead. Almost unconsciously, he registered several pats on his back from well-wishers as he crossed the bay, a tradition amongst the crew. When he reached the Hybrid and prepared to board, he knew he didn't dare look back.

He could feel Lu's eyes on him still, as he disappeared inside.

--

It was maddening! Damnably so! A short term link with the entity, and then nothing, other than sensing that same entity on three separate occasions afterwards, like a lingering echo in a vermin-filled cave. The first two were so fleeting as to be barely detectable, but the third . . . the third had washed over her, almost knocking her over in its intensity as it approached the Fleet. Ama would know the next time it came . . . and she sensed that there _would_ be a next time.

"I seek your guidance . . ." Ama fanned open her hands, palms up, seeing beyond the metal walls, and into the universe beyond. There had been a time, not so long ago, that she had needed to physically see the heavens, awash with innumerable stars, and with that simple link had felt her powers swell. However, since joining the Colonial Fleet, she had been surprised at the insight that she had gained, and how her powers of necromancy had significantly increased, as though being on the planet Empyrean had somehow limited her, and her connection with celestial Beings.

Several times over her lifetime spirits had connected with her, probing her, letting her know that they were observing, never far away. She was familiar with a golden aura of light, which in her early yahrens she had theorized was the Goddess Triquetra or one of her ethereal messengers. Ama had always welcomed the supernatural force, knowing it watched over her and her people in some mystical fashion. She had sensed only benevolence, goodness and a slight curiosity directed towards her, but only once before had they actually communicated with her. And this was the first time _she_ had tried calling upon _them_.

Once again, she sensed the Being before she saw it. A golden light, it was both utterly beautiful and deeply inspiring in its simple magnificence. Like a long lost friend, it reached out to her, meeting her own life force, and embracing it.

"Thank you for coming," Ama stated aloud, although she knew it wasn't necessary. It could read her thoughts, recognize her emotions, and probably predict what would happen next. "I have known you for most of my life, yet until I joined the Colonials, I never felt the need to ask your name."

_And will you ask now?_

"I know what you call yourself when you appear to my kind," Ama replied, as she sensed amusement from the other."Being of Light. Guardian. Or my personal favourite, _John_."

Then the shimmering light that she knew so well began to transform, taking the shape of a man. He was dressed entirely in a dazzling white, which was a trifle overdone as far as she was concerned.

"I didn't realize you qualified as a fashion critic," John mentioned dryly, before adding, "Are you really sure of that? That they're _your_ kind?"

"Yes."

"Don't you want to think about it for a while longer?" John asked her after a long moment. As ever, he waited, respecting her privacy and dignity.

"You'd think that the thought never crossed my mind, even once since I was born," Ama returned, smoothing down her blue robes.

Necromancers were a fixture in Empyrean civilisation, going back beyond their collective memory. She had been a child still when she'd answered Triquetra's calling, and accepted that her vocation would be that of the mystic in Empyrean society. People had treated her differently from that point, almost with a reverence, tinged with a whiff of fear, and when she had in the fullness of time taken her place in the Imperial Court, her reputation as the most gifted of Empyrean necromancers in recorded history had been solidified.

But that had been almost two hundred yahrens ago.

"Do you remember your parents?" John asked, again after a respectful interval.

"My mother, Annica," Ama nodded slowly. She smiled wistfully, treasuring the tender reflections of the Empyrean woman who had given her both life, and her first taste of knowledge. Annica's beauty had only been eclipsed by her patience and eternal devotion to her daughter.

"And your father?"

Ama smiled. "Arion. A rogue spirit, charming but irreverent."

John raised his eyebrows at that. "Then you _do_ remember him?"

"Those were my mother's words, but she spoke of him rarely," Ama replied with a growing impatience."But enough about my past. I want to know of our _future_."

"We must understand our past, to face our future, Ama."

"What is this entity? And what does she want with Baltar?" Ama pressed on.

John sighed, glancing upward, before meeting her gaze. "I cannot say."

"Cannot, or will not?" she asked.

He didn't reply.

"Well, then you're not much good to me," Ama replied sourly.

With a look upward, and a nod, he continued. "Ama, listen and contemplate. A very great injustice must be undone, in order for a terrible disaster to be averted.You will play a part."

She smiled, studying him for a moment. "Ah, now I begin to understand the frustration I sense in Starbuck when he speaks of you," Ama nodded, having heard of the vague and nebulous messages that John had delivered to both Starbuck and Apollo, as well as Commander Dayton, when they had encountered him.

"But you cannot interfere, Ama. There are certain things that _need_ to happen . . . "

Ama sniffed derisively, taking a step closer."I am not bound by your rules, John, nor will I sit by and let the people I care about risk their lives needlessly, especially if you won't explain. I am not some nitwit that cannot discriminate between right and wrong. I am Ama, born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House. I am the Empyrean Necromancer, and I also proudly sit on the Colonial Council of the Twelve. The best thing about _being_ the Imperial Necromancer is that I make my own rules, _and_ I live with the consequences."

John looked upward beseechingly. "I_ tried _to tell her, but she isn't ready to listen."

"Oh, tell them to stop their incessant nattering, please! I can hear them _too_, you know."

John looked at her in surprise, and then nodded slowly. Almost sadly."There is a reason for that, Ama. Your father . . ."

The necromancer waved him off. "I know who I am. What I am. _And_ I know where I belong."

"Do not interfere, Ama. Or the situation might be made even worse."

"Yet, if I play any part whatsoever, will I not be interfering?" she asked wryly. Her expression almost demanded an answer.

"You will know what to do when the time comes."

Ama laughed harshly. "That sounds like some line of drivel I would feed to Starbuck to encourage him when he's feeling overwhelmed."

John looked like he had just sucked on something sour. "Are _your_ words 'drivel', then, Ama?"

"We both know that drivel has its place, but it's not here with me." Ama told him straight up. "Asking me not to interfere is akin to asking me to stop breathing. I really don't know if I have it in me."

The Being of Light looked cautiously optimistic. "Then you'll try?"

"Not very hard," she admitted, smiling as he let out a groan. "Don't fash yourself, dear heart.Have faith."

"I thought that was supposed to be _my_ advice, Ama," said John.

"Although we go about doing things rather differently, I believe we both are striving towards the same eventuality, John. I, unlike you, can interfere to my heart's content. While you can only appear before me, offer me guidance, and hope that I intervene where you cannot . . . much as you have done before with other Humans, while professing your impotence in such matters."

John sighed, looking upward, before returning his gaze to her. "It's a lousy job, but somebody's got to do it."

--

Baltar cradled his still aching head in his hands, trying to rest, while at the same time running through in his mind all that he had come to know of the "troll people". Although much of their conversation had seemed banal in light of how he had felt when he had first "arrived", his bureautician's mind had meticulously filed all the information away, so that he might use it later. A man didn't survive plotting treason, being himself betrayed, a near-execution, imprisonment by both the Colonial Nation and then the Cylons, as well as exile _and _a planet nearly coming apart and killing him,without honing his survival skills.

Most pertinent was the fact that Baltar had been brought here as a test. General Caradoc had selflessly offered to sacrifice his own life, by risking the dangerous crossing of his Doublewalker, whom Eirys had found through the mysterious powers of something called the Oculus. The troll people believed that the spirits of Doublewalkers—two Beings in different dimensions, linked by a twin spirit—were bound together, and that if one was to perish, so would the other. Baltar's safe passage through the "Nonentity" had established that the crossing could be made without losing both spirits to "an eternal elysian slumber". It was somewhat humbling to know he was merely a rat in a cage being experimented on, and that there was some other Doublewalker in the Fleet that was Eirys' true goal. What she would do with the Doublewalker when she found him or her, the former bureautician had no idea, and as his head was about to explode from tediously and cautiously prying this information out of the troll general as they made their way through the tunnels of their underground labyrinth, he had ceased caring.

For now.

Finally the trolls took pity on him when it became obvious that he was still suffering the effects from crossing "dimensions". After all, they considered him a newfound ally against the Cylons. At that point, they led him to some kind of communal "troll" quarters, that he coined the "Troll Hole". That same repulsive musk that wafted off of Eirys and Caradoc seemed to permeate the Hole, which didn't do much to settle his tremulous stomach. However, he knew he needed to get past the headache and nausea—both which were now waning—if he was going to properly assess the strength of the Cylon forces here, and compare them to that of the trolls . . .

So that he might decide which side he should lead to victory.

--

It was a big ole hunk of metal with no viewports, not even allowing a glimpse of the infinite beauty of space. No, the _Endeavour_ was more like flying a submarine, Dayton reckoned as he carried a quick bite back into the War Room. For a moment, he idly wondered what Dickins, a Navy man,would have made of it all.

"So," said Ama from behind him.

Dayton turned, startled, biting off a curse. How the bloody hell did she _do_ that?. He had neither seen the woman, nor heard her approach.Yet, somehow, her appearing out of the blue did not seem out of character. "Ama . . ."

"They're away."

"Yes. If I'm not being a complete, over-the-hill fool, then we can hope to God they're not flying into a trap."

"God?" asked Ama with a rueful smile. "Any one in particular?"

Dayton grinned, almost a little relieved that she wasn't raking him over the coals for not minding her warning. Sometimes she was as protective of Starbuck as a mother bear with its cubs. "We'll have to discuss that sort of stuff sometime."

"Indeed, preferably when you're unarmed," she smiled.

"Or at least armed with some good booze. Nothing like some good stuff to lubricate the thinking."

"And I happen to have a source," smiled the Empyrean sage."So, what will you do now?"

"Try and conceal ourselves in this solar system, until we have more data." He was staring at the board. As soon as the fighters were beyond the system, he looked at the planets more closely. He "hmm'd" as he reviewed the data.

"What is it?" asked Ama.

"Not sure, Ama." He moved to the telecom "Brid . . . er, Control Centre?"

_"__Sir?__"_

"Lay in a course for the third planet in this system. Engage at once. I shall be there, presently."

_"__Sir__."_

"And launch a single fighter to recon the planet until we're there. In fact, launch the Wraith." It was time that Luana took that bird out, and it would get her mind off Starbuck. Besides, from what he saw, going in with a ship that was almost undetectable to the usual scanner arrays was preferable.

_"__Right away, sir.__"_

"What are you up to, Mark-Dayton?" asked Ama.

"We have a saying on Earth, Ama. Good . . ."

"Good things come to those who wait."

Dayton wasn't sure just what to say. He'd heard she could read minds, but for some reason it hadn't occurred to him she'd be reading his. "You're spooky, lady.You know that?"

"Oh, I'm barely approaching 'unnerving', Mark-Dayton." She turned to go. "But alas, I sense that 'spooky' _will_ call again. And I must prepare for her."

He hesitated, taken aback after spending the last hours focussing totally on Cylons, that she was dragging him back to the mystical and metaphysical. He almost felt like he was humouring the old broad when he asked, "Is . . . is she coming now?"

Ama smirked, as though she could see right through him. "Why do you have such difficulty believing, Mark-Dayton. Was your society really so sceptical of such things?"

"On Earth, it was considered fantasy, Ama," he replied honestly. "At least in _my_ circle."

"Yet, your belief in your _own_ God would be considered fantasy by those who do not believe in _Him_." She raised an eyebrow as he bristled in response. "No, it doesn't feel very good to be so challenged. All that you believe to be true, nay, all that you _know_ to be _truth_, is questioned and silently mocked."

Dayton dropped her eyes for a moment, digesting that.

"I am not asking you to abandon your faith, Mark-Dayton, only to accept that there are others that believe as fervently in their own."

Dayton frowned a little indignantly. He didn't consider himself intolerant, after all, his best friend was an atheist, and the spiritual practices on Earth were probably even more varied than he had encountered in the Fleet. Still, Ama left him feeling uncomfortable in ways that Paddy couldn't even approach. "I'm going to have to get deflector shields for the brain, I think," he murmured. "I swear you . . ."

"By Triquetra's grace . . ." she cried suddenly, and in a swirl of robes was gone. A sudden, irrational fear made him follow.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Apollo ran a hand along her sleek lines, glorying in her magnificence. A dark charcoal-grey, she would be almost impossible to spot with the naked eye once launched. Her size and lighter composition balanced her smaller engines, while still giving her speeds comparable to that of the Vipers, but with superior manoeuvrability. Add to that her jamming capabilities, and superior scanner array, the Wraith made the ideal reconnaissance ship, especially in a region where they had already detected Cylons, and were now dealing with a potential new threat. He smiled ruefully, as Jenny shook her head in amusement while pointing at him from across the bay. Pilots and their ships. It was a relationship that most non-military people didn't understand, and couldn't even begin to conceptualise.

"You look like you're getting that urge, Apollo," Luana teased him, a sparkle in her eye as she slowly climbed up into the Wraith. She settled herself into the open cockpit, and then reached forward, grabbing her helmet.

"I never lost it," Apollo admitted, scaling the ship to come face to face with his subordinate officer. Through flying he could become one with his ship, almost becoming one with the stars themselves. For a little while at least, he could forget about leaving behind Boxey and Sheba. He didn't feel that same cohesion between man and machine on the Bridge. Er . . . Control Centre. It took a lot more than one man to fly a battleship.

"You miss it," Luana nodded. "Flying fighters, I mean."

He smiled. "Is it really that obvious?"

"To me it is."

"Because of your Empyrean ancestry?"

"No, because Starbuck's mentioned a time or two that he can't believe that someone with your piloting skills is now _stuck_ on the Bridge."

"_Stuck_ on the Bridge, huh?" Apollo grinned. He could almost hear the words coming out of Starbuck's mouth. "I suppose he _would_ see it that way. But there's a certain amount of satisfaction being the executive officer of your own ship, and a new class of ship at that. It's like having the opportunity to write your own manual."

"Didn't Starbuck do that anyway?" Luana laughed, slipping her helmet on. She fastened the helmet strap.

"No, he only chose to ignore the standard one when it suited him. But to the best of my recollection, it saved my life a time or two, not to mention a lot of others, so I'd be the last to complain about it . . . at least to anybody _but_ him," Apollo chuckled. Other than their sword training with Dayton, Starbuck and he hadn't had much time to simply relax over a drink as they had done countless times in the old days. Their busy schedules had taken over their lives, but it wouldn't last forever. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," Luana nodded, plugging in the helmet to the port that would link her in to the Wraith's systems. The cockpit was entirely blacked out, thus the pilot had to rely on the interface between the helmet and ship's computer to read all instruments. She reached down, and flipped a bank of switches. Slowly, the turbines began to spin, as the engines revved up. Her running lights came on, and her scanner array lit up.

"Alright. We want atmosphere, composition analysis with geotechnical surveys if it looks promising, and any indication of sentient life. Also, make sure you make a priority of giving us detailed scans on the coordinates that the Control Centre sent you, all in real time telemetry. Stay out of sight though. If there are living Beings or Cylons down there, we'd just as soon they not know about us."

"I understand," she replied with a "thumbs up".

He patted her helmet in return, climbing down again, and jumping back from the ship as the Wraith's canopy lowered. Apollo moved behind the blast screen, and watched as the Wraith taxied towards the open bay doors. Moments later her relatively quiet engines roared to maximum, and in a scream of power, the recon ship was gone.

It took another moment for Apollo to make that mental leap. Part of him still felt that it should be _him_ out there, either leading Phoenix Squadron, or test flying the recon ship on her first real mission. After all, this was really the first day that his transition from the _Galactica_'s strike captain to the _Endeavour_'s executive officer left him with a . . . not really a desire to return to his old job, but a melancholy sense that he would be missing out on some of that front line excitement that pilots tasted more frequently than Bridge Officers.

_You forget how different it is out here __. . ._

"What the _frack _. . ."

It was Jenny's shocked tone of voice, more so than her choice of words, which made Apollo abruptly turn in her direction. The CWO was backing up from the bulkhead, slowly retreating from whatever it was she could see. The normally nervy woman was shaking her head in bewilderment as she retreated, while fanning her arms wide, as though that physical barrier alone would prevent anyone else from passing. He quickly jogged over.

"Jenny? What's . . ."

"Colonel, stay back!" Jenny warned him, grabbing his arm as he tried to get a look at whatever it was.

The wall was undulating.

"Sagan . . ." Apollo murmured, for a moment drawn back to that moment on the _Galactica_ when he had been in the turbo lift. In horror he realized he_ hadn't_ been overtired, but that this could be the entity . . . "Jenny, call the Bridge. Have security report to Beta Bay!" He pulled his weapon, pushing Jenny towards the commlink. "All internal sensors focused here! And get Ama down here too!"

"Yes, sir!"

A luminescence seemed to slowly suffuse the bulkhead, putting Apollo in mind of the northern polar lights of Caprica. Like them, it was utterly silent. Magnificent in a spectrum of colour, and seeming to almost embody tranquillity, it seemed far too beautiful to be either ominous or dangerous. As softly sparkling bodies of light swirled together, magically a form began to take shape, until the figure of a beautiful woman materialized. She was breathtaking, perfect, the most exquisite, delicate creature that he had ever seen, with hair that flowed far down her back, reminding him ever so slightly of Serina. Like an angel sent from God, her very presence bespoke goodness and light.

Eyes that seemed to see through to his soul, and beyond, trained on him, and she held out a hand. Apollo holstered his weapon, realizing this delicate creature could be no threat to him. Every single emotion she felt could be read plainly on her face. Apprehension. Sadness. Hope. She held nothing back.

_My people need your help . . ._

The words were silent, heard only within. Obviously telepathic, yet his subconscious still insisted on gifting her with a soft, lilting voice . . . like Serina's. It felt as if they were the only two in the entire universe, but he knew that couldn't be so. Around him, everything else seemed to fade into the background. It simply wasn't important. But she _was_. Longingly, her hand rose higher, and her face betrayed the tragic desperation she was feeling. He could feel his chest hitch in sympathy.

_Please . . . just take my hand. I know you can help . . ._

And the truth was, Apollo _wanted_ to help. He nodded at her, stepping forward. Her aura seemed to gently enfold him as he drew closer. It was warm, inviting, blissful . . . _and_ he could help her. It raised his spirits, giving him a purpose, replacing an emptiness that he wouldn't readily admit to feeling since leaving Boxey and Sheba behind. Apollo could erase that sadness in those shimmering eyes, right the wrongs that had been done to her . . . He reached out his hand to her, their fingertips almost touching. Then a raging flash of silver came between them, and the gentle creature shrieked horribly.

"_By Triquetra, begone_!"

Ama's voice shot through Apollo with such strength, that it felt like a bolt of energy had just torn him in two. He gagged as an overpowering loss hit him, so real in its intensity that it left him breathless. Momentarily blinded, he staggered for a moment feeling as though he was being tossed in a whirlwind. Strong hands grabbed him, and it hit him, as his vision cleared, that he was lying on the deck. Dayton was gazing down at him in concern, as crew members surrounded them. Jolly, Lia, Ryan, Jenny, as well as various techs and cadets, all watched in horrified silence.

"Are you okay?" Dayton asked, glancing at the bulkhead wearily. It had returned to normal. "Apollo? What . . ."

"I . . . uh . . ." Apollo muttered, closing his eyes and trying to make some kind of sense of it all. The experience had seemed so ethereal while it was happening, but now he was getting the idea that he'd barely escaped by the skin of his teeth. He let out a shuddering breath that he could be so easily duped. Then strong hands cupped his face, and he felt himself drawn upward into a sitting position. A comforting warmth touched his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, he was gazing into the dark grey eyes of the Empyrean necromancer. "The entity?"

"Yes. That was close, my boy," Ama told him, studying him as though she could read the previous moments like the pages of a book. "She's a tricky one, isn't she?"

"She said . . . that she needed my help," Apollo told her, as the Necromancer sighed and nodded. "Lords, she reminded me of . . ."

"And if you'd taken her hand, she would have had you," Ama replied quickly, pulling back slightly from the shaken colonel. "She would have pulled you into her dimension_ with _your permission."

"What did you throw, Ama?" Dayton suddenly asked, disconcerted. "What did you hit her with?"

"Huh?" Apollo asked.

"She threw something that came between you and the . . .the creature," Jolly said uncertainly, glancing at Ama almost reverently. "It looked like . . . well, like molten silver arcing through the bay. Ama saved you, Apollo."

"You saw her? The creature?" Apollo asked in surprise, examining each face in turn. Slowly, he got to his feet, Jolly and Ryan helping him up. "But why didn't you _do _anything?"

"We couldn't. It happened too fast. One micron she appeared, and the next you were reaching out to her." Jolly shook his head anxiously. "We couldn't reach you in time."

"But . . . _centons_ had passed. Two, maybe three. At least it seemed like . . ." Apollo replied in bewilderment, looking to the necromancer for enlightenment. How had the entity suspended time?

"Your talisman, Ama," Lia suddenly exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"Gone," Ama replied, standing up and placing a hand on her chest where the Empyrean Talisman usually hung. "I had to break her hold on Apollo. From across the launch bay, only my talisman could do that."

"But your powers!"

"The talisman is a _symbol_ of my power. That is all." Ama smiled enigmatically. "And through it, I can find her."

"You have one hell of an arm, lady," Dayton told her approvingly. He'd seen Ama hurl something towards the shimmering creature that had held Apollo spellbound. "Molten silver" had been a good description. Now he was relieved to hear it was the Empyrean Talisman, when his imagination had almost convinced him it was a beam of energy sent to do battle with evil. Like Zeus' thunderbolts. "The White Sox could use someone like _you_ pitching on their team."

"The _White Sox _could use someone like _me_ pitching on their team," Ryan mentioned. "Or even Chameleon."

Dayton frowned. "At least they made it to the World Series in the last decade while we were on Earth. Toronto didn't."

"World Series," Ryan sniffed. "_Why _do you call it that, when you only invite one other country? Huh?"

"Sympathy," Dayton rejoined.

"Next time, send a card," Ryan flung back.

"Stop it, you two!" Ama reprimanded them. "I need to think, and I can't do it with your constant bickering. You're worse than doddering old women!"

"That's because we're doddering old _men_," Ryan returned with a shrug. Dayton whacked him in the shoulder. "Well, it's true."

"Speak for yourself," Dayton returned, dropping his voice slightly.

"I thought I _was_," Paddy replied, finally shutting his mouth when the Empyrean Necromancer stood in front of him. For a moment, he looked as guilty as a second grader, about to be sent to the office.

"Are we shaking your foundations again, Paddy-Ryan?" Unpredictably, she stroked a gentle hand alongside his unshaven cheek. "What do you make of all this, Dear Heart?"

"There's one advantage of spending thirty years in a hole, Ama," Ryan told her, his voice tremulous. "A man finally gets to the point where he's resolved all philosophical, spiritual and moral issues, beyond doubt. At least within himself."

"And when you poke your head _out_ of the hole? And take a good look around?" Ama asked.

"Well," Ryan's voice was muted, "sometimes I feel like going back in . . . and we'll probably get six more weeks of winter for my trouble."

Dayton let out a breath, squeezing his friend's shoulder in support. "I know _just_ how you feel, Paddy."

----------

Eirys shrieked, the noise piercing Baltar's aching head, as the glowing light that had shrouded her abruptly disappeared, and she was physically thrust metrons back to land in a heap on the ground. Caradoc immediately moved to her side, the torchlight in the cavern illuminating them subtly.

"Eirys! Are you hurt?" the larger troll demanded, as he assisted her to sit. "Eirys? Eir . . ."

"Give me a moment, Caradoc," she instructed him, as she retrieved a metal orb from her lap. She examined it meticulously, nodding in satisfaction before tucking it into some pocket that only she could find in the vastness of her skirts. Then she turned, rising on her knees to examine something on the ground that Baltar couldn't quite see. Ever so slowly she retrieved it, picking it up by a thick cord, as if it was a venomous serpent apt to strike. Baltar sucked in a breath when he recognized it. It was the medallion that the Empyrean Witch wore, much as Baltar had once worn the Seal of the Lords of Kobol.

Why Baltar had been allowed to bear witness to the ceremony, he wasn't sure. Perhaps it was to prove to their newest ally that the grimy, stinky troll indeed _was_ a powerful sorceress. However, from his perspective, she had failed in her task. She had intended to bring another "Doublewalker" into her dimension, but instead a silver streak of light, seemingly from nowhere, had hit her, striking her down like a laser, and foiling her plans. It was completely bewildering, and Baltar held his tongue, reluctant to offer any further information until he understood what was happening more clearly.

"Eirys, the _eye_ . . ." Caradoc murmured.

The medallion was circular in design with the elongated shape of an eye within. A long, thin brow extended over the eye and a pupil was centred at its crest, making the eye appear to be looking up towards the heavens.

"I see it, Caradoc," Eirys hissed in reply, once again taking the orb from her pocket, and holding the two items side by side. "The eye is almost the same . . . but how could that _be_?"

"Indeed," Baltar inserted, moving closer to them. The similarities in design were startling. "Where did your orb come from?"

"According to _the Telling_, the Oculus came from the Nonentity with a Mystic millennia ago," Eirys replied.

"This _Mystic_. What was his name?" Baltar probed, wondering if Iblis would come up again. His own confusion over Iblis sharing the same voice of the original Imperious Leader a thousand yahrens ago still lingered, festering and demanding a reasonable explanation. One he had yet to find. But perhaps his definition of "reasonable" needed altering in light of both Empyrean and Troll witches becoming part of his existence.

"Llyr," Caradoc replied.

"Reputedly," Eirys inserted.

"He set us on our path." Caradoc continued. "Many of our most ancient teachings come from Llyr."

"Are these Mystics . . . are they God's messengers?" Baltar asked, hesitating as they exchanged puzzled looks. How else could Iblis have done the things he did? "Are they omniscient? Omnipotent?"

Eirys frowned. "I admit that I do not know the limits of their powers. It has been contested throughout our history by academics, sorcerers and spiritual advisors alike. According to Lore, they had always seemed to be benevolent Beings until Iblis . . ." she dropped her head, shaking it violently.

"But your broke Mystic Law, Eirys, using the power of the Oculus to enter their realm. You attempted to tread where you are forbidden. Perhaps Iblis would never have come if you had left well enough alone. Perhaps _he_ is the Defender of Mystic Law!" Caradoc criticized her. "Even now you risk again offending them!"

"The past is the past, Caradoc. I cannot change what is done, and can only now seek to repair the damage. To right my wrongs, if wrongs they truly were," Eirys argued. "Tirelessly, I have researched _the Telling _and other ancient scriptures, and there is only _one_ way! Stand with me now and risk the Mystics' wrath, or knowingly consign the Angylion people to an eternity as Odreds! Only know that I _will_ proceed with or without your help, General. I avow that the Kings will rise again, as long as my lifeblood courses through my body!"

"Calm yourself, Eirys," Caradoc soothed her. "I merely seek to warn you that this plan of yours isn't without its risks. Twice you have been thwarted, trying to bring across Doublewalkers. Some Being of significant power has declared itself your enemy in their dimension."

The troll lifted her arm, holding the talisman up by its cord. "But she conceded me this in return, Caradoc. I sense that it carries great powers, and that hers are now diminished."

"By _Llyr_," the troll grasped at the air separating them, then roughly slapped his mouth with his hand, and spat on the ground. "Then rid yourself of it! Hurl it into the molten crater of Mt. Hwynt!"

Eirys shook her head slowly. "I think not, for I believe it will bait my trap quite nicely." Then she glanced at Baltar with eyes that seemed to see straight through to his soul. "What can you tell me of the Sorceress who wears this amulet, Baltar?"

"Well . . . I . . ."

----------

The six Hybrids were in tight formation, following their wing leaders, and maintaining communications silence as ordered. On scanner, Dietra continuously monitored for any company while Starbuck narrowed in on the energy source. Even within the fighter, things seemed tense. She glanced at her strike leader who was unusually quiet, as his eyes flickered between instruments while he tracked his ships, simultaneously waiting for data that might explain what this mysterious energy force was that had seemingly apprehended Baltar. So far, all was clear.

"What do _you_ think it is?" Dietra asked. She had been accustomed to a constant yammering from Starbuck during training runs, and even on the rare patrols they had pulled together back on the _Galactica_. The fact was, things were never boring when you flew with Starbuck. He seemed to attract the unusual, unexpected, and unpredictable. When he had flown as Apollo's wingman, the two together had been a magnet for trouble.

"Nothing that our instruments can make any sense of," he replied, pointing ahead to a shimmering region of space in which blues and greens danced together like swaying curtains in a light breeze, as one colour flowed into and out of the other. "Doesn't _look_ dangerous."

"It's beautiful, actually," Dietra replied, also glancing at the instruments.

"Reminds me of those deep sea creatures that attract prey with a sparkling light, and then eat them when they get close enough."

"Hmm," Dietra frowned, glancing aside at him. "So much for beauty."

Starbuck grinned. "Sometimes the most beautiful creatures are the most dangerous."

"Really?" Dietra snorted. "Are we talking women now, or alien life forms?"

"Can you differentiate between the two for me . . ." Starbuck chuckled, receiving a smack in the arm for his efforts.

"Keep _that_ up, and I'll tell your wife."

"Remember Dee, what is said in the cockpit . . ."

"_Stays_ in the cockpit," she finished with a nod. "I've reached the conclusion that you implemented _that _rule to get away with saying whatever you please."

"Ah, that hurts," he teased, holding a hand to his chest. "It had more to do with developing trust between wingmates . . ."

"Starbuck you're so full of . . ." she grinned as he cleared his throat noisily. She was enjoying the repartee much more than the previous silence.

Starbuck reached over to adjust the scanners and then shook his head as he looked ahead at the shimmering area that grew with each passing moment. "This is weird. The scanners aren't even reading it. It's like some kind of void."

"Are the scanners _working_?" She waited while he ran the instruments through a quick diagnostic.

"Seem to be," he grunted. "They just haven't encountered anything like it before."

"What do we do now?" Dietra asked, looking from him to the canopy. They were coming up on it—whatever _it _was—pretty fast.

"We probe it. We have to find out what's inside, if anything."

"Wish we had one of Wilker's PMU's," Dietra replied. The Portable Mobilization Units had been used with good success in the last sectars, replacing Viper pilots with mechanized probes in potentially dangerous situations. This would have been a perfect opportunity to send one into the field, but the new technology had a Colonial stamp all over it, and couldn't be used by a Covert Operations Ship that was trying to emulate Cylons. Malus was working on developing a Cylon version that they could use.

"Ah, but this will be so much more _fun_. Besides, what's the worst thing that could happen?" Starbuck replied, with an edge to his voice that betrayed his true feelings. He reached for the comm, automatically activating the Cylon vocal modulator. "This is Patrol Leader. Alpha Wing will enter void. Beta Wing will hold on perimeter." Curt, concise, and to the point. He was becoming a master at speaking Cylon Centurion.

"By-your-command, Alpha-Leader," Beta Leader replied, the vocal modulator changing Gile's voice eerily.

With a dubious glance at Dietra, Starbuck nodded once, and changed course for the centre of the blue-green void.

"Starbuck. Getting something now, on the scanners." Dietra alerted him. "Take a look."

"Lords . . ." he murmured. "What the frack . . ."

The scope, previously blank, was now beginning to dance with fluctuating streaks of light. While the main scanner suite still read nothing, _something_ was definitely going on.

"Our deflection grid now says there's something there, but the scanners say there isn't."

"Radion?"

"Negative. The whole band shows totally clear, Starbuck."

"That doesn't make any sense, Dee."

"Don't I know it. Whatever it is," she replied, "contact in thirty microns."

----------

"Commander Dayton," Cadet Pierus reported. "We have an incoming message from Wraith One."

"Go ahead, Luana," Dayton said, with a glance over at his executive officer. Since his run in down in Beta Bay, Apollo had been looking a whiter shade of pale as each subsequent moment passed. The young officer briefly closed his eyes, his hand raking through his dark hair, massaging his skull gingerly. He was beginning to look as bad as Starbuck had not long after _his_ massage . . .

"Commander, I've scanned the planet, and completed my second orbit," Luana reported, coming on the main screen. Her face filled the screen, her helmet almost obscuring her identity. "She's borderline Delta/Epsilon Class, making her almost compatible with _Human_ life. The atmosphere is considerably lighter though, than the Caprica standard. But she does show life, sir. Seas. Rivers. The works. In fact, from the data I'm receiving, it appears there _was_ a civilisation down there at one time. Entire cities, in fact."

"Okay, feed us your telemetry, Lu." Dayton moved to the console, watching the data come in. "Borderline Delta/Epsilon Class?" Dayton glanced to Apollo.

"It has to do with the composition of atmospheric gases surrounding the planet," Apollo swallowed, a trickle of sweat running down his temple that he wiped at distractedly. "Ideally, Humans breathe approximately seventy-eight percent nitrogen, twenty-one percent oxygen . . . "

"As well as argon, carbon dioxide, and other trace elements," Malus added, when the Colonel paused.

"Sounds a lot like Earth," replied Dayton. "So, borderline means . . .?"

"Just what it says," Dorado added. "She's more habitable than a true Epsilon Class, but not as fully as a Delta Class world. Chemically, the surface and crust are also very similar to both the Colonies, and many Cylon worlds, as well."

"But we _could_ survive down there?"

"Oh yes," interjected Malus again. "The lighter atmosphere reads as dense enough for Human existence, and I believe that over generations, you would adapt."

"I see," said the commander. He studied the information from Lu's ship. The planet not only _looked _fairly Earthlike, it also had almost the same land-to-water ratio, had a rotation rate only thirteen minutes less than his own world, and a strong magnetic field. Her tilt was similar, too, although her atmospheric pressure was barely three-quarters what Earth's was. "Are you reading any life signs, Luana?" Dayton asked.

"Plenty. Trees, animals, birds, sure. None that could be considered sentient so far . . . but . . ." she hesitated.

"But?" No answer. "Go ahead, Ensign," Dayton encouraged her.

"I know this is going to sound crazy, Commander, but when I entered the atmosphere, characters suddenly began scrolling up my main screen, and an automatic program started in the Wraith. One that we were previously unaware of. I get the feeling that this is some basic programming, hard-wired into her from her construction, and that this is home. She's gone on some kind of auto pilot, and I can't unlock her system." In the background, they could hear switches clicking. "She's taking me down."

_Oh, just perfect! The Ristretto Kid would kill him if he lost his bride on her first mission!_ Dayton exchanged looks with Apollo, determined that it wasn't going to happen, as he swallowed down the anxiety that threatened to climb up his throat, jump out his mouth, and tell her to get out of there.

"Can you regain control, Luana?" Apollo asked.

"Not so far." Her tone was dispassionate, but with an obvious undercurrent.

"What have you tried?" Apollo leaned forward, listening as she reviewed all her futile attempts at bypassing circuits, and even shutting down systems. Nothing had worked.

"Malus."

"Yes, Commander?"

"Get down to the hangar bay. Try and see if you can dig out this program that Lu's talking about in the other Wraith's computer. If there's a program, there has to be a password, or a stand down code, or whatever you want to call it. Get as many people as you need to help you, and make sure Paddy's in on this. Top priority."

"Yes, sir," said the IL.

"Okay, hop to it." Malus did a short double-take, then he sharply turned, and left the Control Centre.

Hopping.

Dayton just shook his head. "Lu? Any luck?"

"Not yet, Commander Dayton," she replied. "I thought that since I can't detect any current sapient life signs, that it might be interesting to see where I end up. Maybe we're finally going to find out who designed these ships, and what they were doing way back on a pirate asteroid, half way across the last star system. With your permission, sir," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"Sounds like my permission isn't needed, Lu," replied Dayton. "Someone or some_thing_ else is calling the shots here."

"So it seems, Commander," responded Lu.

"It could be that switching to auto-pilot on approach to their city was standard procedure when this civilisation was thriving," Apollo suggested. "She might regain control once she lands."

Dayton nodded, hoping that was the case, assuming that where she was supposed to land was still in one piece. "Okay. Keep telemetry open, Lu. On the low-band channel. We'll enter planetary orbit in . . ." he looked at the chrono, ". . . thirty centons."

"Hope I'll be able to rendezvous, sir."

"If you can't, Princess, we'll be down to collect you. That's a promise."

"Thanks, Dayton . . ." she murmured.

"Holy. . ." began Xochiquetzal, biting off the rest of the sentence. While he was easy-going off-prime, while on duty, Dayton was not tolerant of "rough language", as he called it. "Sir!"

"Yes?"

"Receiving visual telemetry from the Wraith, sir." She punched it up on the main screen.

"She was right," said Apollo, by now leaning on a control panel for support. "A city."

"You mean it _was _a city," said Dayton. "Before somebody nuked it."

"Nuked?" asked Vesta. Dayton explained.

Lu had just flown over what had once been a city. From the size of it, it was somewhere close to the size of L.A. or Chicago, back home, although the buildings had their own distinct character that was hard to identify at a glance, setting them apart from Earth's. However, this city was shattered. Blasted. A heap of rubble. Once-tall buildings were sheared off, or crumbling to the ground, many overgrown with plant life run wild. Dayton freeze-framed, and zoomed in. Many of the decaying structures were blackened and charred, whole sections melted, as if fires had run wild for weeks, if not months, when the city had been struck. He moved ahead, and sure enough, near the centre of the city, was a huge crater of glass. Now filled with water and God-knew what else, it had clearly been caused by whatever had consigned the place to oblivion.

"Enhance this area, here," he ordered. Xochiquetzal complied. Stripped of its cover, it was plain: _this_ was ground zero. A deep scan of the rubble and soil confirmed his fears. "Yeah. She was hit from orbit." He began punching keys on a control panel, and data scrolled by. He nodded, pursing his lips as his gut feeling was verified. "Poor suckers never had a chance."

"Who destroyed them?" asked Apollo, squinting at the screen. His strained features either meant he already had a good idea, or he was about to get sent to the Life Station. Possibly both.

"_We_ did," said Dayton. "Or rather, this _ship_ did, according to her data files, about a hundred years ago.

"Huh? I mean . . ." said Apollo, massaging his temples.

"According to the data banks, this ship bombarded the surface, wiping out whatever civilization was down there. I can't read all of this Cylon gobbledygook, but I'm sure Malus can fill us in."

"Yeah . . ." Apollo replied quietly. He leaned hard against the console.

"Get yourself to the Life Station, Colonel," Dayton murmured, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You look ready to collapse." Apollo didn't move. "Consider that an order, Colonel."

"Came on sort of gradually," Apollo replied shakily, holding a hand to his head, and wincing, as he stumbled a couple steps towards the hatch. "Feel like I was hit by a shuttle . . ."

"Hell's bells, Starbuck looked just like this . . ." Dayton put a supporting arm around Apollo, not wanting to follow the train of thought his mind was taking when he put two and two together and got "spiritual" interference on both counts. He needed to talk to Ama! If this entity had tried to apprehend Apollo, had it also tried to mess with Starbuck earlier on? And how did that relate to Baltar's disappearance from the Prison Barge? Was it some kind of random thing, or was "it" being selective in its choice of victims? And why on Earth—or off of it—did he expect that the Empyrean Necromancer would know these answers? "Dorado?"

"Commander."

"Take the conn. I'm taking Apollo to the Life Station. Call ahead and notify them that I'm on the way."

"Sir."

"And have Ama meet us there! Steady as she goes until further notice."

"Yes, sir!"

---------

The air in the cockpit was suddenly charged with an inexplicable energy, as the Hybrid fighters penetrated the blue-green shimmering void. Starbuck's skin tingled, and it felt as though every hair was standing on end. It was like being in a tempestuous storm, while strapped to a lightening rod. There was a faint hiss, or crackle, that seemed to surround them, but come from nowhere in particular. He also noticed that he could no longer hear the noise of the ship's engines. It was. . . creepy.

"Make sure you keep your navigational fix going in, Dee," he told her, looking out the port. There was only swirling, fluorescent soup. "I'm keeping her on this bearing, unless I come up with one Hades of a good reason _not_ to."

"So if we_ have_ to, we turn around one hundred and eighty degrees, and go straight back out again," she surmised with an approving nod. "We still have navigation, Captain. Phoenix Two and Three are following in chevron formation."

"I wouldn't trust navigation, Lieutenant," he muttered. He thought back to the space near Kobol, when he and Apollo had penetrated a mysterious black Void. Doing a one eighty there had been possible as well, but tricky, at best. "If it isn't some kind of electro-magnetic force making every hair on my body stand up, I don't know what it is."

"So if we have navigation, it's probably not accurate . . ." she muttered in frustration.

"And I'm willing to guess you can't scan the other end of this slop. . ." he added, as the glimmering iridescence flowed around them, fading from one colour into another.

"Correct," she verified, switching wavelons. "Either its boundaries are beyond our scanner range, or our data is complete felgercarb."

"Take your choice," he returned. "Are you still picking up the original energy source?" He glanced at the mounted chrono. "Weren't we supposed to be making contact. . ."

Dietra hesitated, shaking her head. "I'm not getting the same readings . . . just a lot of interference and static."

"Optical band system?"

"Nothing. Same on the attack scanner. It's like staring through a blizzard with an illuminator."

"Multi-spec?"

"Same thing, Starbuck. Total mud." There was a sudden burst of sparks from an instrument at the far end of the panel. Dee swore, and checked a switch. "And our flight data recorder just went dead."

"I'm _not_ getting a good feeling about this, Dee," Starbuck murmured, his fingers itching to turn that bird around, and lead them back out. As if reading his mind, the ship bounced, as if they'd hit a bump. She bucked again.

"That's good enough for me, Bucko," she replied, looking over at him. "I get the feeling that . . ."

"What?" he asked, looking back at her, but she wasn't moving. Wasn't reacting in any way. He swallowed the sudden lump of fear in his throat. "Dee?" He snapped his fingers in front of her face. Nothing. He patted her face. "_Dietra_!" Nothing. She was as lively as a rusted centurion.

Around him the air seemed to spark with energy. He could count each beat of his heart, it was pounding so loudly in his ears. Then, molecule by molecule, the ship and Dietra seemed to slowly disintegrate around him until he was sitting in space. No seat, no ship, no co-pilot. He was impossibly suspended within the void itself, completely alone. "Sweet Lord, I'll do anything you ask . . ."

_ Come to me!_

It was the same vision that he had beheld in his dream, the same magnificent siren that had beckoned him forward once before, only this time she seemed to stride towards him purposely, her long blonde hair billowing out behind her, as her white robes swirled around shapely legs, and delicate bare feet peeked out beneath her garments. Against the backdrop of the shimmering lights, appearing like radiant spirits dancing in the Heavens, he was powerless to resist.

Or at least it would make one heck of an excuse in his report. . .

_Come. I need you._

"Well, the thing is I'm married, and she carries an Empyrean blade . . ." he murmured, licking lips that were dry, and not sure if the words even passed his lips as she suddenly paused only centimetrons away. He found that he was now standing, though he had no memory or awareness of having risen to a standing position. He looked "down" at his legs, his feet impossibly framed against the swirling energy of the . . . whatever it was. Shaking his head, he looked back up.

She smiled at him beguilingly, holding out a hand. _You will raise a King, and save a people._

It sounded like something Ama would have portended, only this wasn't Ama. Not by a long shot. All else aside, this person had all her teeth. His hand seemed to lift of its own volition, and it took every bit of self-control he had to pull it back, clenching it tightly into a fist. It trembled. "Actually, heroics aside, I'm in a hurry to get back to a card game . .."

She grinned then, and abruptly waved a silver amulet at him, dangling it tantalisingly, as the light reflected on the highly polished silver of the Empyrean Talisman.

_Ama's!_ _ But what . . .? _

Starbuck gasped, instinctively grabbing for the Empyrean Necromancer's amulet, and feeling a searing heat tear up his arm as his hand wrapped around it. He tried to drop it, but his hand refused to obey, keeping the Talisman in a fiery grip. Rising upward and outward, the heat engulfed him in a violent fury, wracking his body in a tortured agony, tearing at him viciously, while she watched.

He couldn't escape it, the link between them was unbreakable, no matter how he tried. Energy shot into him, filling him up painfully, while a deafening roar hammered him, until he felt like a star about to go supernova. His grip tightened on the talisman, using it as a lifeline, even as it burned a hole straight through to his core. In a blinding culmination of both pain and luminosity, he exploded into a billion tiny shards of light . . .


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Starbuck!" Dietra cried, her stomach twisting in knots.

One moment he was beside her in the pilot's seat, talking to her, and the next he had disappeared! It was . . . _unbelievable_.

Especially since she was abruptly down a pilot!

The fighter lurched to port, and she leapt from one seat to the other, grabbing the more Human-friendly yoke—another improvement on the original design—and correcting their course. She could get by without a co-pilot and navigator. In fact, Starbuck had purposely drilled them all on this eventuality, taking a "nap" in the rear command centurion's seat one day while putting them through this exercise.

"All right, Dee, you can do this . . ." she murmured, mentally calculating the correction, and confirming her course, before turning the ship around one hundred and eighty degrees. She didn't have Starbuck's experience in fighters or the same confidence in her own piloting instincts, but regardless, _she_ was the squadron leader now, and she was determined to get them out of there before anybody _else_ disappeared! A glance across at the scanner told her that the others were following, but she wouldn't be able to tell them that they were down a strike captain until they cleared the void.

The microns seemed to take twice as long to pass in this space anomaly. Mentally, she chastised herself for not paying more attention to how much time had elapsed since they had entered. She huffed disparagingly, realizing that she thought _Starbuck_ was doing that. And he wasn't supposed to disappear into thin, although electro-magnetically charged, air. Just like Baltar had.

"_Damn_ you, Bucko. If you think I'm going to let you get away with this, you've got another thing coming. This is Dereliction of Duty! Not even the strike captain can get away with this . . ." she muttered heatedly, blinking back hot tears that pricked the backs of her eyes. _He was gone _. . . Right out from under her nose, without even a warning. The realization scared the pogees out of her. How on Kobol was she going to tell Luana? Her stomach flip-flipped and she could discern the acrid taste of fear in her mouth, since they were still in the man-eating void that bedazzled the senses with alluring blues and greens, while monstrously ingesting Colonial Warriors without a trace.

----------

"Apollo! What happened?" Cassie motioned to a biostretcher as Dayton supported the warrior into the Life Station. The colonel had stopped by briefly earlier, after the mysterious incident in Beta Bay, but had been cleared from a medical point of view for duty.

"Headache . . ." Apollo murmured, not daring to speak above a whisper for fear of his head splitting open. "Like a vice, Cassie. Like a pulsar inside." He gingerly sat down on the stretcher, closing his eyes against the brightness of the harsh Life Station lighting. It had gradually become worse, and had gone from a niggling pain at the front of his skull, to a crushing pressure throughout, which he was sure would force his grey matter out of his ears at any moment.

"Well, let's get a full scan here," she said, looking at Dayton. "He had a headache when he left here, but it certainly wasn't debilitating. He didn't even want to take anything for it," she murmured, running her biomonitor over Apollo, and pausing to examine the results. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Except the headache from Hell," Dayton pointed out. "Starbuck looked just like this when he left the Bridge earlier today . . ."

Cassie smiled in amusement. "Two incidences related to Bridge duty. I hope it's not an epidemic, Commander."

Dayton raised his eyebrows. "You know as well as I do that Starbuck felt that way _before_ he hit the Bridge. He blamed it on the acupuncture. Not _me_." He winked at her, knowing she was teasing, before glancing around. "Where's the Doc?"

Cassie raised her eyebrows. "_What _Doc?"

"_Our_ Doc. The Chief Medical Officer assigned to the _Endeavour. _The one I _requested_ be assigned."

"Dr. Sala?"

"Yes, that's it. Dr. Sala. I thought he boarded," Dayton inserted, looking around again expectantly. "The roster said everybody was aboard."

"Oh, he _did_ board," said Cassie, not even trying to hide the disdain in her voice. "And when he _finally_ arrived here after settling in to his quarters, _and_ I gave him the full tour of the Life Station, including the surgical suite, he informed me that a mistake had been made."

"What mistake?" Dayton asked, his brow furrowing.

"Dr. Sala has a doctorate in _psychology_. He's not a surgeon, and doesn't even hold a medical degree."

"A _shrink_? How the bloody hell could the computer make that kind of mistake?" Dayton exploded, watching Apollo turn a ghostly shade of white. "Sorry, Apollo."

"Maybe he could _shrink_ my headache . . ." Apollo whispered, rubbing his temples. "Or my whole head?"

"Apparently, the records of him and his older brother—killed in the Destruction— were somehow confused. Combined. According to our Fleet personnel file, he once ran a Piscon Life Station, as well as held the head Psychologist position in the _President Timon Health Centre_ on Gemon," Cassie continued. "Chief clinician in residence."

"Is that supposed to be suspicious?" Dayton asked. "Couldn't he do both?"

"At the same time?" Cassie inserted, handing over a datapad with Dr. Sala's credentials. "On two different planets?"

"I . . . _see_." Somehow, Dayton found a sort of cold comfort in learning that the U.S. Air Force, or NASA, weren't the only organizations that could royally screw things up in the personnel department.

"I think you do. As of our official launch, we are down a Chief Medical Officer, Mark." Cassie looked as if she'd like to go and shoot someone right about now. Possibly, someone in personnel . . .

"Bloody hell . . ." Dayton murmured at the revelation, once again marvelling at how many things could go wrong in this man's military, just as Ama walked through the door. She was now wearing what he understood to be the traditional garments of her people. The long brown tunic and pants looked like crude suede, and were obviously authentic animal skins. Her high boots could have come from the pages of _Vanity Fair,_ and her wild hair had that familiar windswept eighties look that really couldn't be explained aboard a spaceship. "Hey, Ama. Nice. Early Gucci?"

"Have you heard from Starbuck's patrol, Mark-Dayton?" she demanded, ignoring his flip comment, and crossing swiftly to them, pausing in front of Apollo. "Not immune either, my boy? Poor lad."

"I . . .uh . . ." Apollo waved a hand instinctively in front of himself as she reached for him.

Ama smiled, pulling back slightly. "Have I ever done you harm, Apollo?"

It seemed rhetorical, but she waited patiently for an answer, as if she was speaking to a sensitive child. "No, Ama. Of course not." Apollo replied, chagrined.

"Do I not love your best friend—he who considers you as a brother—as if he was my _own_ son?"

Apollo nodded. How many times had she been there for Starbuck, both as a friend and mentor? And hadn't she extended that same affection and protection to many others?

"Then know without doubt that I only mean to help, although at times it may seem otherwise." Ama raised her hands, holding them a hand's breath from his face. "Starbuck was similarly affected when the Hag probed him. I can ease your pain, Apollo, if you will allow me?"

"_Starbuck_ . . . she went after Starbuck too?" Apollo asked, jerking his head back, and immediately regretting it as it throbbed violently.

"She did," Ama replied, nodding.

She pressed her fingers to Apollo's head, and closed her eyes. Though nothing was visible, an energy seemed to pass between them. Within moments, Apollo opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. Ama opened hers as well, and looked at him. He nodded, and she smiled.

"Better?" asked Cassie, scanning his skull.

"Very much so. Like it was never there."

"I don't know how you . . ." Cassie began, looking from the instrument to the necromancer.

"All that matters is I _do_," replied Ama. She looked from the med tech, to Dayton. "I'm not sure if Starbuck was aware of the Hag's presence, as he was most likely dreaming at the time."

"Dreaming?" asked Apollo.

"Yes. When one sleeps and dreams, the mind becomes vulnerable on certain levels. The Hag knows this, and sought to exploit it."

"Okay, Baltar, Apollo, Starbuck . . . what's the connection?" Dayton asked.

"The Hag," Ama returned ruefully. She looked at Dayton as if he really needed a remedial First Grade class for a moment.

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," Dayton grumbled.

"My pleasure Mark-Dayton, but I believe that we have bigger troubles now," Ama informed them.

"Oh?"

"She has gone after Starbuck again, and I believe that this time she snagged him."

Just then the overhead comm crackled to life. "_Commander Dayton, report to the Control Centre! I repeat, Commander Dayton, report to the Control Centre!_"

----------

"Come on, Malus. Lu has to be running out of time. This is Starbuck's _wife_ we're talking about. Our-fair haired boy's one and only. The kid's going to be devastated if we don't find the access code to an automatic landing sequence in the next ten seconds!" Ryan insisted as long streams of algorithms raced by on the monitor too quickly for the Human eye to comprehend, while he, Jenny and the IL watched and waited.

"Devastated?" Malus enquired, while speeding up the process even more, the lights in his 'head' flashing in sync. "I fail to understand how physical harm can come to Starbuck, Dr. Ryan, if something happens concurrently to his wife, in a different location."

"_Emotional_ devastation, Malus. Aren't you supposed to be studying up on us? If I was your teacher I'd put you in the corner with the Dunce Cap on, and have the kids blow spit balls at you." He glanced at Jenny. "Ah, takes me back to Kindergarten with Mrs. Stewart." He knocked on the IL's chestplate. "Malus, Don't you realize yet that the physical impact on a Human is only part of the equation?"

"No, actually."

"Think of it like . . . having part of your programming scrambled. Unable to properly process certain kinds of data."

"Ah," said the IL. "Like corrupted algorithms. And an emotional impact can be just as debilitating to a Human?"

"Or uplifting," Jenny added, drawn into the conversation. "Emotions can take us either way."

"The cup is half empty,_ or _half full," Ryan inserted with a smile.

"And it would be _my_ responsibility?" Malus asked, trying to understand.

"Darn right," Ryan nodded vehemently. "You would have failed Luana. And Starbuck. And by extension, the entire Colonial . . . Oww!" he cried, as Jenny cuffed him in the head.

"Don't tell him that!" Jenny snapped. "Ya want him to crash?"

"You're telling me that he's got Microsoft in there?" Ryan returned as Jenny stared at him balefully. "I'm just trying to motivate him!"

"Then _encourage_ him. Don't fill his head with misconceptions!"

"What? And stop a tradition in the Ryan family that has worked for centuries?" His voice changed in both pitch and tone, as he mimicked his mother. "If you sneak a spoonful of cookie dough, Paddy Ryan, you'll get worms! If you steal change off your father's bureau, you'll grow hair on your palms! If your scowl, your face will freeze that way! If you don't stop touching it, it will fall off!"

Jenny raised her eyebrows and sniffed. "That explains a lot about you, actually."

"Well, Old Mother Ryan ruled her house with a wooden spoon, don't you know. In fact, all the way back to the Great Potato Chip Famine—circa Granddad's diet—the Ryan women . . ."

"Dr. Ryan, I believe I've found it," Malus interrupted, as he isolated the code, locking it in to the handheld monitor.

"Look, it worked," Ryan grinned at Jenny triumphantly. "Now get that code up to the Control Centre, Malus, before you short-circuit from inactivity!"

"On my way," the IL replied.

"Hope to God it's in time," said Jenny. "Lu _could_ eject, but I'd hate to lose that ship, Ryan . . ."

"He'll make it. Oh, and Jenny?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell is Malus hopping?"

----------

Utter darkness blanketed Starbuck, like a drug-induced fog, and for a long, unnerving moment, nothing penetrated the stillness and the numbness. It was a blessed relief. _Hmm._ Actually, it left a guy wondering, not for the first time in his life, if he was dead. Then a gradual chill and dampness began to creep over him, as he shivered involuntarily, and with it the pain and the misery slowly returned. It was a sure sign he was still alive, at least in his limited experience. His senses seemed to fade back into functionality, as the gruff murmuring of voices and the dimness of light bit by bit became more detectable, along with a powerful musky scent. Rough hands grabbed him by the shoulders, turning him over onto his back, and jerking something from his hands. Only then did he become aware that he was lying, curled into a fetal position, on the damp, smelly ground. Suddenly, there was light. The light shone directly into his eyes, shot straight through his skull, and he groaned in response, trying to roll over again and escape it, fighting against the determined resistance futilely.

"By Llyr, it's the Prince! It's Llewelyn!" Caradoc cried, his voice a mix of shock and joy. Other voices behind him echoed his cry.

"Oh, no! Not _him_!" Baltar groused even louder. "Why? By all the Lords, why is it always _him?_"

"Nay, it's not our prince, Caradoc, but it _is_ his Doublewalker," Eirys stated, panting, her voice sounding tired. "Give him some air, General. He fought me all the way, and no doubt he's feeling the effects._ I_ certainly am."

The hands released him, allowing Starbuck to roll back onto his side, curling up into a ball, and shutting out the light. His palm pressed against his skull, as if he could dull the incessant hammering that had become the centre of his existence. Waves of nausea bombarded him, and he retched uncontrollably, despite a woefully empty stomach. His stomach convulsed repeatedly, and he shuddered with the exertion, biting his lip as each spasm caused a correlating agony in his head. Finally, he lay spent, the cold and dampness seeping into his bones, as his body, slick with sweat, began to cool.

"Sagan sakes . . ." he gasped. The cold surface felt good against his face. "What in Hades Hole is . . ." His eyes focused, and he made out the features of Baltar. Idly he searched for his weapon, but his holster was woefully empty .He groaned loudly before muttering, "I go through all that, and _yours_ is the first face I see . . ." Fleeting memories of the ethereal siren that had tricked him filtered through his mind.

"Can you carry him, Caradoc?" Eirys asked. "We need to get him to Mt. Cadoc."

The derisive snort was almost humorous. "He's a bit on the big side for me," the general chuckled. "If I put him over my shoulder, his head would be bouncing off the ground."

"Might make for an improvement," muttered Baltar.

"Eh? What was that?" asked Eirys.

"What exactly do you need him for?" Baltar asked, pointing at the Viper pilot.

"We need his blood."

Baltar smiled brightly. Things were suddenly looking up. "Oh? Then _I'll_ carry him."

"Hey, can we talk about this?" groaned Starbuck, startling as an incredibly short, ugly creature suddenly appeared before him, pulling his upper body upright, while others surrounded him, trying to prop him up. Instinctively, he moved to defend himself, but at the first hint of resistance, they swarmed him, pressing a blade to his throat threateningly. A foul, musky odour assaulted his senses, and he gasped as his stomach convulsed again while stabbing pains shot through his skull. It was like a living nightmare!

"We'll talk_ after_ they take your blood," retorted Baltar, leaning down and grasping the younger man by the flight jacket while the troll people pushed and prodded him. With a grunt, he hefted the warrior over his shoulders, the trolls following.

----------

_What would Starbuck do?_

Something intuitive. Something crazy. Something borderline deranged that would never make it into the manual, but would work anyway . . . like cutting power and taking his chances. She wracked her mind, trying to sift through her library of Starbuck stories—both real and apocryphal—desperately trying to come up with an idea that involved something more useful than cursing the Wraith, and calling it by every profane phrase she had learned since joining the Fleet. _Frackin' mong-raking snitradious Sagan's socks sucking piece of automated felgercarb . . ._

As she heard her landing repulsors automatically firing up, and saw the enormous pile of rubble barely a kilometron ahead, Luana realized she was quickly running out of time. Not to mention epithets. Probably somewhere beneath that pile of debris used to be a spaceport, and her ship was following some long ago pre-programmed flight path to take her in without incident. She was in a beautiful green valley, following a winding river with snow-capped peaks on the far horizon, and in any other situation, she'd be enjoying the scenery. But in _this_ case, she knew she was about to slam into a mountainside of felgercarb at almost eight thousand kilometrons per centar.

"Wraith One to _Endeavour_. Any luck up there, Core Command? I've almost reached my destination, and I've got to say that I've seen nicer looking landing bays between the crushers on the _Hephaestus_."

"Luana, this is Dorado. We just heard from Dr. Ryan. They fired up the other Wraith's computer, and Malus is on his way to the Control Centre with the code to disengage your auto-pilot."

"How long, Dorado?" Lu asked, swallowing as she watched the pile of rubble loom nearer. Even as she waited, her engines began to throttle back, no doubt following their long-ago instructions. Still, if she didn't . . .

"Not sure exactly, Luana, but not long. How long do you need?"

"I'd say I have about thirty microns . . ." She paused, glancing at the controls. "I'd hate to eject, Dorado. We'd lose the Wraith, plus all the data I scanned . . . tell Malus to get a move on."

"Luana! Apollo here!" He sounded out of breath. "What's your altitude? And what's the landscape like?"

"It's frackin' gorgeous, Colonel, if boulder-strewn mountainsides are your thing. Nice impenetrable forest too. But I'd rather leave my sightseeing for another time, if you don't mind!"

"If you cut power totally—I mean a complete engine power down—could you land?" he rejoined insistently. "Altitude, lift and terrain! Think about it!"

"_Where the Hell's Chrome Dome?_" Dayton hollered in the background.

"I'd drop like a tylinium ball, Apollo . . ." Luana muttered, nevertheless checking her altimetron and speed. Mentally, she did the calculations, factoring in how much glide she could count on from the aerodynamic spacecraft. Its control stick and surfaces were not dependant on a functioning power source to operate, thankfully, and it occurred to her that Dayton had once deduced there had to be a very good reason for that. She might be able to glide, if she did this right. The dang ship was possibly even designed for it! It _was_ significantly lighter than a Colonial craft . . . it _might_ just be possible . . . _if_ luck was on her side.

"No, you wouldn't, Lu. Trust me on this. As long as the terrain is okay . . ." Apollo coaxed her. "_C'mon_ . . ."

"Luana!" A brisk voice interrupted. "Dayton here! We're uploading the code, and transmitting . . . _now_!"

Luana shook her head, her stomach tightening into knots as her proximity alert sounded. "I'm out of time, Commander. I can't wait! Cutting power!"

She reached for the controls, but the transmission from above was faster. Just as her finger touched the switch, there was a beep, and the craft bucked slightly. Her interface screen informed her that she was once more on manual control. Letting out the breath she had been holding, she pulled back on the stick, and hit the power. The Wraith roared with new speed, and she screamed over the rocky ridge, banking to the right.

"_Yeehawwwww!_"

"Luana?"

"Control restored, Commander," reported Luana, realizing that Pierus in communications was probably cursing her right now. "Instructions?"

"Excellent, Ensign. Alright, fly up and down the valley, scanning for whatever installation had acquired you. We'll focus on the area when we pass over in . . .seventeen and a half centons."

"Understood, Commander," said Lu. "Tell Malus he gets an extra shot of joint lube for his natal day, this yahren."

"He doesn't _have_ a _birth_day, Luana. He's a Cylon."

"Starbuck gave him one to ease his transition into Colonial life" Being assigned a designated date as a registered orphan that he could celebrate each yahren, Starbuck wasn't exactly known as a stickler on such trivial details. Ironically, he was almost torn over conceding his 'familiar' natal date, as he called it, in preference to his 'official' one that Chameleon had revealed. The last she'd heard, he was considering keeping them both in the interest of Fleet morale. After all, two parties for Starbuck were better than one. "And Malus prefers to think of himself as 'patiently waiting for his citizenship', rather than as a 'Cylon'."

"I'll . . . uh, try to remember that, Luana. Dayton out."

----------

"You didn't tell her," Ama accused him.

Right now, somehow, she managed to sound like his Aunt Lena.

"Tell her _what_?" Dayton returned, looking at her. They had been on their way to the Control Centre from the Life Station when Luana's crisis had superseded the report he knew was waiting for him from Lieutenant Dietra. "I'm not going to get Luana all riled up about something I don't know anything about, Ama. I need to talk to Dietra first. Pierus?"

"Lieutenant Dietra, sir," Pierus nodded, switching channels.

"This is Commander Dayton. Report, Lieutenant."

"Commander, Starbuck's gone!" came the voice, after a few seconds. It was scratchy, but intelligible. "Vanished into thin air right out of the cockpit, after we penetrated some kind of void. I don't know what happened, sir. I . . . I can't find any trace of him . . ." Her usually dispassionate voice held an edge of disbelief. " All scans are negative."

"Forward your telemetry now, Lieutenant."

"Forwarding telemetry, Commander."

Dayton glanced at Ama, who merely nodded that the incoming data confirmed her suspicions as they both watched the transmitted telemetry displayed on the monitor.

"Triquetra!" Ama muttered, watching the data.

"Sir?" asked Dietra.

"Telemetry received. What's the condition of the rest of the squadron, Lieutenant?"

"Safe," Dietra returned. "All ships functioning, no damage, all remaining personnel accounted for. Energy readings from the void have diminished since we left it."

"All right. Get your tails back here, full power. It appears that all we've achieved is the loss of our strike captain."

"Yes, sir," Dietra replied.

Dayton turned around, looking at the people amassed there. "Vesta, full scanner sweep, maximum range, of the area. I want to know if the space dust outside burps."

"Sir."

"Pierus, scan all frequencies for any sign of _anything_. Ships, stations, whatever. Maximum boost on all channels." Dayton looked at the board, and frowned, then looked at the rest. They looked as bewildered as he felt. With one notable exception . . . "Well, people. I'm open to suggestions."

Apollo let out a short breath, shaking his head. "Normally, I'd say we go get him back, especially in light of the fact that we don't have a Fleet to protect . . . "

"But this isn't exactly _normal_," Dorado finished the unsaid words, glancing at the others. "How in Hades Hole are we supposed to know if he's even _alive_?"

"I can assure you, he's alive," Ama inserted. Her voice was slow, and even, and had that ring of authority that communicated total conviction. "I'd _know_ if he wasn't." She glanced at Apollo for confirmation. More than once she'd made such a prediction about Starbuck's well-being when others had given up hope, and her track record thus far was impeccable.

Apollo nodded briefly. "I have to admit, I believe her. I don't begin to understand how all . . . _that_ works, Commander. But . . . if Ama says Starbuck's alive, then he is."

"Then I'd say _that_ isn't our biggest problem," Dayton inserted. "_Finding_ him is."

"Leave that to me, Mark-Dayton," Ama replied. Something in her face and tone reminded Dayton of a Special Forces sniper, about to take out an enemy target. "You choose a task force, and I'll get them to Starbuck."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Lu flew up and down the valley, as instructed, uploading all her scans to the _Endeavour._ Yes, it was beautiful. A wide river blazed golden below her, bordered on both sides by deep green vegetation, and what scanned as slow-moving grazers. Above, she could see two moons in the sky, one large, the other much smaller. For a moment, she was powerfully reminded of her homeworld, so far behind. The trees, the wildflowers, the birds and free-running streams. The beautiful azure vault above. As she completed her fourth pass, her scanner bleeped.

"Well, well, well," she said to herself.

"Wraith One, this is _Endeavour_. Come in." came a voice from above.

"Wraith One, here. I'm scanning something that looks interesting, _Endeavour_. I'm going to land, and check it out."

"Gonna have to wait, Luana," Dayton replied, coming on the line. "Something happened on Starbuck's patrol . . . he's missing. Get back into orbit, and rendezvous with the _Endeavour_. You'll be part of the landing party. Meet me in the War Room for immediate debriefing."

"Affirmative, Commander," she replied, her stomach turning over as she hit the turbos.

----------

Every step was agony, every stumble was torture!

"Oh, stop your moaning!" Baltar snapped irritably, his breathing ragged, as he shifted Starbuck's weight on his shoulders, then stumbled again, as he momentarily lost his balance in the damp, dank cave.

"Put . . . me . . . down . . ." Starbuck gasped, at the end of his tolerance. His head was about to explode like Carillon, and instinctively he knew that if he could just get upright, or at least get the world to stop spinning around him, he'd feel better. Meagrely. He clawed at the back of Baltar's belt, as the traitor stumbled into the wall of the tunnel for what had to be the fifth or sixth time. The bastard was doing it intentionally! He _had_ to be, no doubt getting a bang out of grinding the battered, much-abused warrior into the craggy surface repeatedly, while he excused his clumsiness, and rationalised aloud that he was long-unaccustomed to such physical toil.

"Gladly," Baltar returned, stopping short, abruptly releasing his grip, and letting the warrior drop to the hard ground with a thud. As he rolled his neck and shoulders in relief, Baltar turned to look at his burden in distaste. "Perhaps we could take a . . . a short break," he rasped, leaning against the opposite wall of the tunnel, and sliding down it himself wearily.

"Have some sustenance, Baltar," Eirys squatted down beside him, handing him a round bread-like substance no bigger than the palm of his hand, which he noticed the other trolls were also eating. Then she pulled a cord over her neck, and handed him the canteen attached to it. "Eat. Drink. You will feel refreshed."

"I . . . thank you, Eirys," Baltar nodded, controlling his features as he examined the other close up. While repulsive to gaze upon, she was . . . well, repulsive to gaze upon, actually. He nodded at her and nibbled at the hard substance that wasn't as repugnant as he would have thought. Actually, it was kind of tasty. "What is it?" he asked, holding it up. His stomach was almost completely settled, and with the first swallow of the food, he realized just how very hungry he was. Alone on the planet Adama had marooned him on, he hadn't been this famished, even after his supplies had run out. Even Starbuck dry heaving a couple metrons away, didn't dissuade his appetite.

"_Bara_," she replied, glancing over at the nauseous warrior, before gathering her skirts and skittering over to him.

"He doesn't look well, Eirys," Caradoc growled. "Will he make it?"

"You don't look so hot yourself, pal, but _I'll_ feel better tomorrow," Starbuck sputtered, pushing himself backwards with considerable effort so he could rest upright against the cave wall. He raked his fingers through hair damp with sweat, and shivered in the coolness, drawing up a knee to rest his pounding head on. He held up a hand defensively when the troll leaned closer, peering at him, and sniffing loudly.

"What is your name?" she asked, hesitating before him.

"Star . . . Starbuck . . ." he swallowed, unsure what to expect next. He was a little surprised when she merely nodded, and began to rifle through her skirts.

"Tell me about _this_, Starbuck," the troll returned, pulling out Ama's talisman like a parlour trickster, as the necromancer would say.

He hadn't expected his violent reaction to the troll possessing the Empyrean necromancer's sacred amulet, but his hand shot out, grabbing it, and jerking it from the Troll's grasp. She startled, reeling back from him reflexively, as four other trolls rushed them with daggers drawn.

"Hold!" she demanded, raising a hand to stop them. "Put those away!"

They stumbled to a halt, looming over Starbuck like pit-Taurans on a choker, yet he could see uncertainty on their features as they pointed their weapons at him menacingly. Eirys' hand seemed to hold them at bay, more effectively than any shield. A moment later, she repeated her command, and they sheathed the blades, then stepped back, but remained watchful.

"You're fast." She narrowed her eyes at Starbuck appraisingly, and then dropped her gaze almost hungrily to regard the talisman, as he closed his fist tightly around it, clutching it to his chest. "It must be very powerful."

"Sentimental value, nothing more," he murmured in return, feeling a bizarre comfort coming from the familiar charm. His headache receded ever so slightly, as a warmth suffused him. "But what are _you_ doing with it?"

"I took it from your witch," she glanced at Baltar momentarily, inclining her head.

"Ama?" Starbuck swallowed, trying to imagine anybody taking something from the Empyrean necromancer that she didn't want to cede. "I'm guessing there's a little more to it than that . . ."

A glimpse of amusement crossed her features. "Perhaps."

"What do you want with me? What do you want with . . ." he glanced at Baltar, before again meeting her steady gaze. The traitor was obviously in their good books, which didn't exactly bode well for him. "Why do you want my blood."

"To break a curse," she replied simply.

"To _break_ a curse? Well, that's novel," he grinned. It was reminiscent of the Empyreans who considered blood to contain some sacred, supernatural force that would please the Gods. His eyes searched hers, and her features seemed to soften as she studied him quietly for a moment. Then she sighed.

"Please, believe me. I have no quarrel with _you_, Starbuck. But I trust that you possess the power to save my people. My King. You have something so precious, so sacred that I have brought you from the Infinite, crossing the Non-Entity, and risking the wrath of the Mystics. When together, our princes rise, the spell will be broken."

Starbuck blinked, trying to make sense of her speech. She might as well have been speaking the ancient dialect of the Empyrean mystics. "Come again?"

"My greatest enemy is the evil mage, that calls himself Count Iblis. Then there are his minions, the Cylons. My quest is to save Morlais, and to restore the Angylion people."

It raised more questions that it answered. Morlais? Angylions? But more pressingly, "Cylons? There are Cylons here? And Count Iblis?" The news didn't help his headache, which flared back like full turbos.

"Iblis disappeared, but the Cylons remain," Caradoc replied gruffly, restlessly. "To torment us."

"Where are we?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head at the strange creatures, and then looking over at the traitor. It was like some kind of weird fantasy world, dreamt up from an overactive and vivid imagination. What was it that Ryan kept saying? _We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto . . . _

"Morlais. A world within a dimension quite apart from your own," Eirys explained.

"And why did you bring _Baltar_ here?" Starbuck asked.

"I was the test case," Baltar said self-deprecatingly. "It seems they wanted _you_ in one piece, Lieutenant, for you to be of any use to them."

"_Use_?"

"Their words, not mine, Lieutenant."

"_Captain_," Starbuck corrected him.

"Oh yes, of course," Baltar smiled, focusing on Starbuck's collar pins, and nodding slightly. "My apologies."

"Commander Baltar has told us he will help us in our battle against the Cylons. He has told us what they have done to your own people, to your worlds. He is clearly a brave and honourable man." Starbuck grimaced, but the troll carried on. "Will you do the same, Starbuck? Will you help us?" Eirys asked. "With enemies as powerful as ours, we need all the help we can get. We _must_ free my people."

Determination shone from her eyes. For a grungy little troll, she had a lot of backbone, and by the sounds of it, problems that would rival those of the Colonials. Of course, she could be lying through her crooked and darkened teeth . . . but Starbuck's instincts were telling him she wasn't. He needed more information, as well as their trust, if he was going to survive this, and eventually find his way home.

"_Commander_ Baltar . . ." Starbuck huffed humourlessly, nodding, yet realizing that trying to set them straight about the traitor would merely be his word against Baltar's. The turncoat would reveal his true colours in good time, as he always did. And Starbuck would be there when that happened. "Well, there is that little technicality about needing my blood . . ." He raised his eyebrows. "I'm kind of . . . using it right now."

"A mere _drop_ is all I ask. Surely you could spare _that_ to save a beleaguered people from enslavement?" Eirys pleaded with him.

"A meagre sacrifice for the sake of an entire civilization," Baltar added cogently. "You're a Colonial Warrior, Starbuck. Show these people what we're made of." He was really pouring it on, his voice thick with drama and pathos. The effect was impressive, and well rehearsed over a lifetime. "We went to war to save our neighbours, the Hasari's, from the vile and hideous Cylon Empire. They ask so little of you now, in comparison."

They all looked at him expectantly, Baltar no less so. Starbuck really had no choice, despite the fact that his internal klaxons were screaming at him. "All right. I'm not sure exactly how a drop of blood can save a civilisation . . ."

"It seems that we are uniting against our common foes, Lieutenant . . . forgive me again . . . _Captain_ Starbuck. . . ." The smile was mocking, and Baltar chuckled mirthlessly as Starbuck glowered at him. "Count Iblis. The Cylon Empire. Just like old home secton."

"Oh yeah. Together again, just like our glory days on Planet 'P'. Wouldn't miss it." Starbuck struggled to his knees, bracing himself against the cave wall with one arm. He slowly gained his feet, determined he would get wherever he was going under his own steam this time. Baltar quickly climbed to his feet, and stood over him, grabbing an arm when the warrior swayed.

"I too was rather affected when I first arrived. But it passed eventually." Baltar told him. "How do you feel, Captain?"

Starbuck looked up at him, and cracked a fleeting grin at the sucron-coated insincerity oozing from the other's voice. "Pretty much like you _look_, Baltar."

Instead of the usual scowl, the traitor actually smiled. "Ah. That bad. I thought so."

"Come," said Eirys. "Time grows short."

----------

Dayton shifted from foot to foot, speaking mostly by rote, as he looked around at the members of the task force assigned to rescuing Starbuck. Picking the team had turned out to be a bit tougher than expected. _Every _member of the crew, from the most seasoned warrior in the launch bay, down to the grease-monkeys in the engine room, had volunteered to go. Dayton was impressed: a man had to command a lot of loyalty to elicit _that_ sort of response. Dressed from head to toe in the traditional black infiltration fatigues—Apollo, Luana, Lia, Dietra, Cassiopeia and Ryan—most of them were checking their equipment while listening to their commanding officer brief them. Leaving Dorado in command, Dayton had insisted on leading this mission, which was a bit of a departure from the Colonial way of doing things. But there was no way in hell he was going to indefinitely sit on the Bridge when there were other officers more than capable of manning the fort. Especially, since in this case they didn't know where they were going, or what to expect when they arrived. Most of them had their doubts—unvoiced—about whether they would arrive at all. Only Lia looked confident that the Empyrean necromancer would deliver them unscathed.

"Okay, questions?" Dayton asked, glancing up at the useless navigation board in the War Room. Alternate dimensions weren't included. Idly, he checked his own gear, then he smirked humourlessly. "Questions that I can _answer_, that is."

"Well, in that case, does my butt look okay in these pants?" Ryan returned, glancing sceptically behind him. "I feel ridiculous. From Beach Bum to Elvis is just too much of a transition in one day."

"Your 'butt' looks _fine_," Dietra replied with a chuckle and an appraising look at the Earthman she had been involved with for many sectars. Despite their chronological ages, thirty years harvesting and eating koivee root on a pirate asteroid had apparently slowed the aging process for them, making them appear at least a decade younger than they were. "_Very_ fine, Paddy."

Ryan smiled at her warmly, waggling his eyebrows, and lowering his voice. "I ain't nothing but a _Hound Dog_, little mama."

"A hound dog that I'll _Return to Sender_, if I hear anymore cute ones like that." Dayton rolled his eyes as the others laughed. He could always count on Paddy to lighten the mood. "Anything else more _pertinent_ to the mission?"

"Well, I for one wouldn't mind knowing how exactly we're going to get there . . . and where 'there' is," Dietra told him.

"I'm going to defer those questions to Ama, once she gets here," Dayton replied, glancing at his timepiece, and trying to maintain his aura of confidence. "She's the expert." _I hope to God . . ._

----------

The trail was ancient and decrepit, winding its muddy and eroded way narrowly along a rugged mountain path that lead up the thickly-wooded flank of Mt. Cadoc. Starbuck fingered the two talismans he had concealed beneath his tunic, wondering if the protection they offered extended to falling off the side of a cliff. The route looked like it had been fortified over the yahrens, but those same fortifications had long-since broken down, leaving treacherous gaps along precarious walkways. Blackened stones and partially burnt bridges indicated the Cylons had been here at some point. He doubted they could pass this way now without casualties, which might be why it had been left in such a state. If there was a revered site at the top of Mt. Cadoc—their destination—then the trolls wouldn't want their enemies there.

Looking down the side of the mountain, out over the barren landscape below, he paused to take a long drink from a canteen. Eirys had said that these mountain passes and valleys had once been green, lush and vibrant with life. With the coming of the Cylons, a scourge was cast upon her homeworld, and the bleakness he now regarded was all that was left of her beloved Morlais. Bitterly, he realized that Caprica would almost certainly look something like this now, and he was almost glad he wasn't around to witness it. His heartbeat echoed in his ears at the exertion of climbing a mountain while feeling like mong. Sighing, he wiped at his face, slick with sweat, while catching his breath. Directly below, he could see the glint of sunlight reflecting off of metal. He leaned further out, realizing it was probably the remains of the last centurion that had tried to pass this way.

"Be cautious, Prince Llewelyn . . ." Caradoc put a hand on his arm, pulling him insistently back from the edge. "My apologies . . . _Starbuck_," he corrected himself, stealing another furtive glance at the Colonial Warrior, and then releasing him, and nodding for the others to continue ahead.

Starbuck nodded. "We really look . . . _that_ much alike? Me and your prince?"

"Yes," the troll grunted. "Like unto twins."

"Then Angylions are . . . _Human?_ Like us?"

Caradoc paused, considering that for a moment. His face scrunched up as he mulled the question, which somehow made him look less ugly. "There are . . . _differences_. While you physically resemble Llewelyn, Angylions have an aura that is most profound. It is unmistakeable."

"An _aura_?" asked both Starbuck and Baltar, at once. Caradoc looked from one to the other, then back to Starbuck.

"Yes. An ethereal light that comes from within. It is like . . . like a lantern, seen through a curtain or shroud. You see it, the light within, even though it is masked by the outer shell of the flesh." He sighed. "There are the gifted ones, who can see deeper than most. To the very flame itself."

Starbuck nodded slowly, trying to keep his features carefully neutral. Ama often talked of auras and ethereal qualities. It made about as much sense to him as romance did to a Cylon. "What else?"

"I have a bond with my own people that I do not sense with yours."

"What kind of bond?" Starbuck asked.

"I can sense their emotion . . . their mental state, if you will. I can feel their pain, or, sometimes, when they die."

"You mean collectively? Or individually?"

"Both," Caradoc replied. "At this moment, I feel the pain and despair of the Angylion people, as keenly as I feel Eirys' hope and yearning." He made a fist, squeezing it tightly before waving a hand at the cliff edge and adding, "You must be careful. The mountain quakes often. And the ground. It is soft. It will crumble beneath your feet, and you will surely fall to your death."

"Well, as long as you can still scoop up some of my blood, General. . ." Starbuck deadpanned, then broke off abruptly. He paused, staring hard through a gap between two peaks in the distance, a little further along the mountain path, as he sucked in a breath of dismay. It was a chillingly familiar shape. "Holy _frack_! Is that what I_ think _it is?"

"What?" Baltar asked from behind, drawn by the urgency in the warrior's voice.

"It's a frackin' _Abaddon_, Baltar! Just like the _Endeavour_!" Starbuck replied, his head feeling absolutely clear for the first time in centars. The old single saucer style Cylon capital ship was tilted to one side, as though she had landed that way. Crude scaffolding was erected around her. The natural barrier of rock between them and the Base Ship obscured any further view. "If we're in another dimension, then what the _frack_ is a Cylon Base Ship doing here?"

"Indeed . . ." Baltar replied quietly. "But the _Abaddon-_class . . .none of those have been in service for almost a full centi-yahren."

"Yeah, not since your day," Starbuck returned. "They told us that back at the Academy."

"Very amusing," drawled Baltar, although much of his knowledge came from Cylon databanks, rather than the Colonial Academy. "They were a failure, basically, as a weapon system, and were first relegated to secondary duties, then withdrawn from service altogether."

"When was this?" asked General Caradoc, curious about all this _Abaddon_ and _Base Ship_ discussion. _Know thy enemy._

"After the Battle of Olinick One," replied Baltar. Caradoc's bushy eyebrows arched in question, and Baltar explained. "The Cylons dropped out of lightspeed over the planet, just outside the orbit of her moon. The Colonial taskforce, led by Commander Nebrod aboard the Battlestar _Atlantia, _moved in. But there was a fatal flaw."

"What?" asked Eirys, curious as always.

"The scanner and deflector systems aboard the _Abaddon-_class were totally inadequate. When dropping out of lightspeed, there is a momentary burst of radio noise and secondary radion. Normally, the ship's deflection and scanner systems compensate for this distortion, and remain up. But the systems aboard these ships," he indicated the ship they had seen, "never functioned correctly. When dropping out of lightspeed, the radion distortion as often as not caused the scanners to go blind for a short period, or the deflection system to drop, as they were slaved together in that design. At Olinick, the four _Abaddon_-class vessels supporting the attack were on the right flank. Perceiving their weakness, Commander Nebrod detached the Battlestar _Acropolis_, and the cruisers _Century_ and _Liberty_ to attack them, the Starhounds taking a heavy toll_. _Blind and unprotected, the Cylons' right flank began to buckle within bare centons. When they tried to reinforce their right flank by thinning the rest of their line, they were caught by the Battlestars _Galactica, _and_ Pacifica,_ along with three cruisers and several destroyers_,_ coming in at lightspeed from behind the sun, and dropping out right behind them."

"I am intrigued," said Caradoc, his military mind trying to visualize the story. "It reminds me of when Angylions ruled the seas. Go on."

"Caught while launching their fighters, the Cylon left flank was unable to manoeuvre effectively, and one Base Ship was knocked out of action within centons. The Colonials pressed them harder, driving both flanks against the centre. Their fighters were caught between both waves of Colonial fighter ships, and soon the first Base Ship was blown out of the sky."

"Magnificent!" said Caradoc.

"Yes," agreed Baltar. "Soon, one, then a second _Abaddon-_class ship was taken out, and then the Task Force's Command Ship. After barely two centars of combat, the Cylons had lost four Base Ships out of the original eight, more than half of their fighters were destroyed, and two of the surviving Base Ships were badly mauled. One so badly they self-destructed to avoid capture. After that, this type of vessel," he pointed towards the one far below, "was completely retired from service. Scrapped, too, so I thought."

"When was this?" asked Caradoc. "Did you fight in this battle, Commander Baltar?"

"Almost a full hundred yahrens ago," replied Baltar. "And sadly, before my time, General." He looked pointedly at Starbuck. "Which leaves me curious as to how long these Cylons have been here?"

"Ten years," Caradoc replied.

"Ten _years_?" Baltar repeated, glancing at Starbuck.

"Close to ten yahrens," the warrior interpreted confidently, a strange look passing over him.

"But that doesn't make any sense," Baltar reasoned. "How could it have arrived ten yahrens ago if the Cylons decommissioned them a centi-yahren ago?"

"Well, I know for a fact that three _Abaddon_'s were assigned to this quadrant . . ." Starbuck paused as Eirys cleared her throat. "Well, the quadrant we _were_ in."

"But that's ridiculous . . ." Baltar sneered.

". . . almost a hundred and five yahrens ago." Starbuck finished. "We retrieved the data from old Cylon logs."

"But I never saw . . ." Baltar broke off, not willing to admit to Caradoc and Eirys that he commanded a Cylon capital ship.

"I imagine not every commander is . . . privy to all intelligence," Starbuck answered delicately.

"True," said Baltar haltingly. Starbuck had had the opportunity to challenge him, yet had chosen to prolong his ruse. He exchanged a nod with the warrior before he looked back at Caradoc. "And they just . . . appeared?"

"Yes. By the machinations of Iblis! May he rot in the lowest of perditions!"

"Okay, all well and good," said Starbuck, "but the question remains, folks. If this is another dimension, what is a Base Ship doing here?"

"Yes," said Baltar. "After all, _we_ were not so fortunate as to be allowed _spacecraft_ for our journey."

"I do not have the power to bring a vessel such as that through the Non-Entity," Eirys admitted. "Not even a small one."  
"Iblis," Baltar nodded. He glanced at the general, then back towards the grounded warship. "Is she space-worthy?"

"Space worthy?" Caradoc asked.

"Can she fly?" Starbuck interjected.

"Since the Cylons destroyed Morlais and enslaved our people, they've been repairing their . . . _abomination_." Caradoc pointed at the Base Ship, as if it were a mass of rotting flesh, or a walking corpse. "Demand in their mines and metal-works has slowed, and most labour has been redirected to what you now see. We have gleaned that they have almost reached their goal. There have been rumours that they will test their weapons out on Morlais when they depart, annihilating us."

"Sagan sakes, can you imagine if the Cylons actually get that bucket off the ground," Starbuck interjected. "The Cylon Empire could end up dominating an entirely separate dimension!"

"Depending on who is out there to stop them," Baltar glanced skyward. "What do you know of other planets, other civilizations?"

"Naught," Caradoc returned abruptly. Space exploration was far beyond their development.

At that moment, the ground began to shake. They all reached out to steady themselves, skittering back from the edge of the cliff. Baltar sucked in a panicked breath, as the ground beneath him rippled, split in front of him, and then began to crumble. Futilely, he jumped back, and sought purchase as he fell. Slowly, mockingly, he felt his right foot slide forward and his body begin its inevitable descent to certain death. There was nothing to grab onto, nothing to break his fall. How could his life end so abruptly, so unexpectedly, so . . . _mundanely_?

He cried out in terror . . .


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Baltar was abruptly jerked backward, first by the collar, then by the belt, and hauled to safety. The solid ground beneath his astrum had never felt so good, as he watched rock and mud slide into the void in front of him. Then, as suddenly as it began, the shaking stopped. It had all happened so quickly. In the blink of an eye, Baltar had almost died. He sniffed, gazing upward into the blue eyes of the Colonial Warrior who had just saved him. It would have to be _him_!

"Why . . .?" he muttered numbly.

Surrounded by trolls, one of them a general, but _no_ . . . Starbuck had had to come to his rescue! Baltar let out a ragged breath, realizing the warrior's longstanding debt to him from Planet 'P' had just been repaid.

For his part, Starbuck looked almost as surprised as Baltar felt. He slowly wiped his hands, one against the other, as if he could brush off the memory of saving Baltar, along with the dust. Momentarily, his gaze shifted to the edge of the cliff, as if he was replaying the events in his mind. Then he turned, looking back up the trail, removing himself from Baltar's probing gaze.

Caradoc held out a hand, offering it to Baltar. "Such reflexes would come in handy in a fight." He glanced in approval at Starbuck.

"Yes," Baltar murmured, remembering a half-drowned Starbuck punching him in the face on a beach only a few sectars ago. And another incident where the brash lieutenant had the audacity to tell him that he'd trade his life for a shot at Baltar, while he was being kept prisoner on a Cylon Base Star. What cosmic force with a warped sense of humour kept bringing them together? A moment later, the former bureautician and most hated Human Being in all of history accepted the hand up, and was pulled to his feet.

"I suppose I owe you my thanks . . ." Baltar breathed in the warrior's direction, brushing at his pants. For a few moments he could not control the shaking of his limbs.

"Let's just call it even," Starbuck replied over his shoulder, his tone aloof. He kicked at a rock, watching it fall over the edge and plunge downward. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, before abruptly heading up the path.

"As I said, our time is running out," Eirys reminded Baltar, her gaze flickering between the two men. "We must hurry. We must awaken the King."

"The King?" asked Baltar.

"You shall see. Come."

---------

Twinkling candlelight sparkled like a vast field of stars in the darkened room. Dayton drew a deep breath, shaking his head as he waited for Ama to finish fussing, preparing the hastily adapted medical chamber like some kind of mystical shrine. It reminded him of those parties Yvonne used to have where she'd invite her sisters and friends, sit around and drink a lot of wine, and add twelve dozen more "tea lights" to that bin she kept on the floor of _his_ closet. He glanced over at Cassiopeia, regretting that he had to drag her into this mission. There were too many unknowns, and he didn't like it. Maybe he was a little old fashioned, but he would rather have her in the relative safety of their base ship. Besides, in the privacy of their chambers, his lady had admitted a time or two that she far preferred the controlled environment of the Life Station, to the uncertainty of the field. Oh, she would certainly go if needed, and had even insinuated herself onto missions where no med tech had been assigned. No warrior would die due to lack of medical attention if Cassiopeia had something to say about it, but some people worked better with laser blasts or bullets flying around them than others. Dayton had intended that their Chief Medical Officer and other lower level med techs would be doing the field work, leaving her to run the Life Station, and continue to work on her medical studies in relative peace. But of course, Dr. Sala wasn't going to be much good to them in this instance. Unless of course he could _talk _a potentially injured Starbuck into feeling better, once they found the missing warrior.

He slipped an arm around Cassiopeia, pulling her into the main Life Station. "I'm sorry you can't just hang out here and crack your books. But we're stuck with it. There really isn't anybody else in this med department qualified enough. You've jumped before, under fire."

"Don't be sorry. You know I'm always willing to do my part," Cassiopeia returned, turning to smile at him. "Besides, I've always liked this outfit . . ." She grinned wickedly, as she provocatively ran a hand over one hip, smoothing out some imaginary crease. "I'm thinking of keeping it."

"Hmm, not a bad idea, Mrs. Peel," Dayton chuckled, pulling her close in the dim lighting to kiss her quickly. She was more like a soldier than some _cadets_ he had seen, willing to sacrifice _anything_ for duty, and able to work past her fears. He wished he could tell her how proud he was of her at that moment, but he was afraid it might come across as sounding way too condescending. "You're quite the lady, you know that?"

She smiled.

_Yeah, she knew._

"Mark-Dayton?" said Ama, her voice sounding somehow louder than it really was.

"Yeah."

"I'm ready."

----------

"Hey, Komma?" Silence. "Komma!"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," said Komma, roused from his near-trance, at his station in the _Galactica'_s Computer Centre. "What is it?"

"I said, do you want a java?" asked Lomas, standing over him. "I'm gonna stretch my legs and grab something. You want anything?"

"Uhh . . .yeah," replied Komma. "I'll take a java. Black. And a pack of mushiebeans, if you can swing it."

"Done," said the other, and left him alone.

Arching his back and popping several vertebrae, Komma rubbed his eyes, and returned to his work. He was still trying to see if he could drag something out of the security feed from Baltar's cell aboard the Prison Barge. So far, every enhancement technique he'd tried had turned up nothing. Period. Zip. Whatever had happened to the traitor, it had apparently left no trace that he could find. Mong! Mong, it was so damned annoying, indeed infuriating. NO piece of data EVER got away from Komma! No way in Hades Hole he . . .

"Here, Komma," said Lomas, returning.

Komma looked at the chrono. _Lords! Had it been that long? Lomas had been gone almost a full half-centar. _He'd barely noticed. Popping a mushiebean into his mouth and taking a sip of the hideous thrice-used leftover reactor cleanser that passed for java these days in the mess, he hit a key on his board, as the unit ran another sim. Bloody Hades, this was what? The fiftieth? Sixty? Lords of Kobol, it was like he'd been grabbed by a . . . by a ghost! Snitrads-on-a-stick! Maybe it was just time to . . .

_Frack! _

"Frack!" said Komma, hands suddenly still, cup a micron from his lips. "Fin . . ."

"Huh?" said Lomas, turning to regard him.

"I may have it, Lomas!" said the pudgy technician, starting to grin. He began inputting new instructions into his setup. "Oh yeah. _Oh yeah!__"_

"You finally find something?" asked the other, coming over to Komma's station.

"I sure as Hades Hole hope I have." He leaned closer to the screen. "Yeah, you sneaky little wisp. _Gotcha!_"

---------

Starbuck felt his feet begin to drag as they climbed the final hill to the Holy Sanctum, the sacred Angylion site, just below the summit of Mt. Cadoc. His head had settled to a dull ache, rather than a mind-numbing throb, but he still felt as though he'd rather find a warm, soft place to rest, instead of donating blood to the Angylion cause. A small plateau, a shoulder of barren volcanic stone except for loose dirt and rocks, gave rise to an immense cairn that towered over a burial vault. Within were the remains of the first Angylion Sovereign, King Cadoc, so both Colonials had been told. Here, throughout their people's long history, sacred ceremonies and rites had been practiced by successive kings, religious leaders, and sorcerers.

Eirys, Caradoc and the others dropped to their knees, placing their faces in their hands and bowing their heads. Softly, they chanted words that neither Starbuck nor Baltar understood, before getting back on their feet, and continuing up the hill, genuflecting every several metrons. Starbuck paused, feeling uncomfortable with their ritual. Stand up, take a step, down on one knee, touch forehead with fingers. Stand up, take a step, down on one knee, touch forehead with fingers. It was the inevitable situation where a Colonial Warrior needed to balance his own beliefs with being respectful of others. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have fallen asleep during that bit of instruction at the Academy. Still, he had their stated need of him to hold onto. Especially knowing his usefulness might expire with his inevitable donation of blood. He sighed, hanging back until the trolls again stood erect. They didn't even look back at the Colonials, continuing on towards a cave.

"Come," murmured Baltar, striding after them.

"Wait a centon," Starbuck returned, grabbing his arm. The trolls had paused at the burial vault, performing another ritual. "Now that we're finally alone, just what's your plan, Baltar?"

"You make it sound as though this was somehow _my_ idea," the traitor returned incredulously, after a moment. "I asked for this . . . this situation no more than you did, Captain. You think otherwise?"

"Well, it's crossed my mind that there are _two_ sides to this war, and that you've already been on the Cylons'," Starbuck returned bitterly.

"Ah." Baltar nodded, smiling knowingly. "I see. And you think I'll change sides at the first opportunity, and betray these people."

Starbuck looked at him coldly. "It wouldn't be the first time, Baltar."

"Are you regretting saving my life, already?" Baltar drew in a deep breath, nodding patiently before he let it out. "You're predictable in your accusations. Just like your friend, Apollo."

"Well, you're pretty damn predictable in your _behaviour_, Baltar, with the possible exception of falling off cliffs!" Starbuck returned. "You'll do anything to survive, just like before. And you'll betray anyone for power."

"I'm a changed man, Starbuck," Baltar denied calmly, gazing up the hill before looking back at the warrior. "After all, my realm of power is somewhat limited these days . . ." he smiled bitterly. "As I am sure you've noticed, Captain."

"But you're already seeing the potential here . . . with these people." It wasn't a question, and Starbuck gave him a long look. "Hmm?"

"I only see . . . the path to redemption," Baltar shrugged. "Your Empyrean witch helped me to see the way."

Starbuck hesitated, studying him. Since he'd accidentally saved Baltar's life, he'd felt this overwhelming urge to throw the traitor off the nearest cliff, making up for his momentary lack of reason when he had instinctively saved him. Now, verbally attacking the man, hurling accusations and voicing doubts, was a conciliatory substitute. For now, at least. "Felgercarb."

"Only time will tell, Starbuck. But you tell me . . . why did you save my life?"

Starbuck shrugged, dropping the traitor's gaze.

"Oh, c'mon! Here's your chance to gloat! To rub my nose in it!" Baltar pointed out.

"I think you have me confused with . . ." The warrior raised an eyebrow, "_you_."

"Perhaps you're right," Baltar laughed. "Now, I'm guessing it was reflexive. You didn't think about it, you simply acted. That Code of Honour that they instilled in you at the Academy Is that it?"

Starbuck grunted, turning to look at the barren valley below them. The traitor was right. It was instinct to reach out and save a falling man. For an instant he had almost wished he could go back . . . but he knew he didn't have it in him to let Baltar, or any other man, die like that. Smashed to a bloody pulp fifty metrons below on craggy rocks, it would have been swift . . . maybe _too_ swift, for the likes of Baltar . . . Such opposing thoughts were something he didn't want to dwell on. If he did, the darkness could swallow him whole. "I was _di_stilled early on in my career, Baltar."

"Hmm . . ." Baltar mused. "Then there's the fact that you didn't tell them earlier on that I was a Cylon commander. You could have, you know."

"Yeah, and it would have had them wondering how in Hades Hole I knew that. It was sure to reflect poorly on _me_." Starbuck glanced back up the hill. "That General Caradoc doesn't exactly strike me as the mellow and reflective type. Mention any connection with the Cylons, and I'll wager you a sectar's pay he'd go into lightspeed. If they lump _you_ in with their enemies, I'd follow." He looked in the direction of their hosts. "You're not the only one around here with an instinct for survival, Baltar."

Baltar chewed that over for a moment. "At the time, I thought perhaps you were repaying me for saving your life down on that planet . . ."

"I wasn't exactly harbouring a lot of guilt about that, Baltar, if that's what you're thinking . . ." Starbuck muttered, pulling the top off his canteen again before taking a long drink.

"You're not what they call a . . . deep thinker," Baltar mocked him. He held out a beckoning hand.

Starbuck smiled slightly and pasted on his trademark grin. "Just a Viper jock, Baltar." He tossed him the canteen.

----------

"I don't understand, Ama," Dietra burst out nervously. She stood with Ryan, Dayton, Cassiopeia and Apollo, enclosed in a circle by Ama, Lia and Luana, who were holding hands. The shimmering candlelight had lent a mysterious mood to the last few moments as they stood there in silence, while Ama merely tilted her head back and drew in several long, quiet, deep breaths.

The necromancer smiled slightly, before turning slightly to regard the warrior. She spoke in a hushed tone. "Life is energy, Lieutenant. And I do not speak of the natural forces of electrical and chemical energy that exist within all living cells. _Those_ are not life. Each of us has a _spiritual_ force, the very Flame Imperishable, and as we move through our lives and experience different things, as well as learn and accumulate more understanding about ourselves and our place in the world, the spiritual power grows, eventually forming part of a greater unified field of energy, embodied throughout our universe, and beyond it."

_Use the Force, Luke! _Ryan quipped to himself, merely miming the words at Dayton. The attempt at self-control did no good. For a moment, Ama turned and gave him a withering glare that would have wilted any mere "Jedi apprentice". He smiled cheerfully, counting down the moments bravely until she turned him into a toad.

"Power?" Dayton repeated, his brow wrinkling. "Tell me more."

"_Ultimate_ power—that of one mind, one heart and one body—resides within each person's ability to develop their own unique and indestructible identity, while always living in consideration of the well-being of other individuals," Ama added.

"Isn't that kind of . . . _basic_?" Ryan asked, still feeling a chill from Ama's gaze. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you?"

"The Golden Rule," Dayton added. "That's what we called it, back home. It's in just about every ancient Earth writing about behavioural precepts and ethics, including the New Testament Sermon on the Mount, the Talmud, the Koran, and the _Analects_ of Confucius."

"I remember reading about the Great Law of the Six Nations Iroquois Confederacy. It was also one of _their_ three principles that was supposed to guarantee peace between their member nations," Ryan added.

"It's in the _Book of the Word_ as well," Apollo added. "In _The Way of Wisdom_."

"And in ancient Empyrean teachings," Lia nodded. "Although most of ours are handed down orally." And they had lost the only surviving written account of their history on the planet Alrin.

"Ama, what exactly are you saying?" Cassie asked her. "That the Thirteenth Tribe from Kobol carried these precepts with them to Empyrean and Earth, or that the Beings from the Ship of Lights . . . the Guardians, as they called them on Earth . . . actually established these rules?"

Ama smiled. "Neither. Again I will say it: one mind, one heart and one body. These precepts are not limited or driven by any _one_ life force. Or even one species. Think of the moral writings of those you call the Hasaris, after all. No, my dear. They are within all of us, uniting us."

"At least that's _your_ take on it," Dayton inserted.

"If I said _God_ was within all of us, uniting all of us, would it be more palatable, Mark-Dayton?" Ama asked quietly. Ryan snorted, ever so quietly, but this time she let it pass. "For regardless of the _name_ of that spiritual force, the meaning is the same. We are one. All of us."

"_Whatever_," Luana snapped. "Save the discussion on spiritual philosophy for when we get Starbuck back. How are you going to find him? And how are you going to get us _to_ him?"

"The power of three," Ama replied, tightening her grip on her god-daughter's hand as they stood in triune. Each young Empyrean women wore her talisman outside of her tunic. "If you focus on his life force, Triquetra will lead us to Starbuck."

"I understand that you can _sense_ Starbuck," Dietra said, "but how can you physically transport us to him?"

"The same way the Hag did," Ama replied. "Life is energy, and energy can be transformed. Energy is invariant with respect to rotations of space, but not invariant with respect to rotations of space-time."

"Say again?" Ryan muttered, shaking his head. He felt for a moment like he'd fallen out of church and into a physics lecture. Overall, he'd rather be in a pub.

"Trust in me, Luana," Ama held her gaze. "I want you to focus on Starbuck's life force. All of you," she added, looking at those enclosed within her fold.

"How do we do that, exactly?" Ryan returned.

"Search within _yourself_ for Starbuck," Ama continued. "He is there."

"Man, I thought that was my ulcer acting up again after all this time . . ." Dayton muttered wryly. "If I'd know it was the _kid_ . . ."

Luana sniffed in amusement, meeting the Earthman's gaze. "All right. Let's get this mumbo jumbo over with." She drew a deep breath, letting it out and closed her eyes. "Where are you, _Innamorato_?"

----------

Starbuck swallowed down the rising panic that gazing upon an identical visage of oneself, clearly _dead_, could induce. The golden hair was considerably longer than Starbuck's, and the prince also looked somewhat younger, but spending ten yahrens catching up on your sleep could probably do that for a guy. Going easy on the ambrosa and fumarellos probably didn't hurt, either. Muscular and fit, the prince was clothed in pants, tunic, vest and boots that were casual, yet somehow elegant. Weirdly, there seemed to be a kind of _radiance_ to Llewelyn's skin, giving him an almost ethereal look. The aura of which Caradoc had spoken. It reminded Starbuck of the siren that had enticed him here, and fleetingly he wondered what had become of her. The torches that Caradoc had lit began to illuminate the enshrinement more clearly, and he took another tentative step forward. "I don't believe this . . ." he muttered, shaking his head, as though denial could somehow erase the image of himself and Apollo lying on two identical _altars,_within the dimly lit cavern, _dead_. Yet after ten yahrens, they should certainly be rotting corpses, not handsome young men. It was like an old Colonial fairy tale, one he hadn't thought about in yahrens. Something the Matron had read to them at the orphanage when he'd been Boxey's age.

Baltar snorted aloud, the incredulity in his voice echoing in the Holy Sanctum. "Of course, Apollo _would_ be the other one! God above, why do you torture me so?"

"Our princes," Eirys said as she approached her sovereigns, bowing her head and dropping onto one knee for a moment. "Llewelyn and Glynn."

"Brothers . . ." Starbuck murmured. He and Apollo were _brothers_ in an alternate dimension. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, as more than a deca-yahren of friendship and camaraderie flashed through his mind. Gazing upon Apollo's "dead" likeness just now was as unsettling as regarding his own. It took him back to the Ship of Lights for a moment. _You were only dead by primitive measures . . . it was not Count Iblis' right to take your life . . ._

"You look surprisingly good for being dead ten yahrens, Starbuck," Baltar commented, with a glance at the lifeless prince. "Almost an improvement."

Starbuck met the traitor's mocking gaze, but could only shake his head, glancing back at Eirys. It was a little overwhelming. "How . . .?"

"An enchantment," Eirys explained, waving a hand over Llewelyn's supine form. "I can still sense the life force within them. The Flame within them is not extinguished, though it burns low, and they look the same as they did on the day that Iblis struck them down."

It was so eerily similar to when Iblis had . . . _killed_ Apollo. Yeah, the mere thought of the malicious Being striking down Apollo as the selfless warrior leapt in front of Sheba, still filled Starbuck with a mixture of turbulent emotions. Rage. Loss. Impotence. Hopelessness. He'd lost countless friends before in combat, but when Apollo had "died" that day, it had hit him harder than ever before.

_Thank the Lords . . ._

Starbuck sucked in a deep breath, shaking off the cold, crawlon-like shadows of the past, and stepping closer to the prince that looked so much like his best friend. As with Llewelyn, Glynn's dark hair was much longer than Apollo had ever worn his, but tiny beads adorned a narrow braid on one side. He was dressed similarly to his brother and shared the radiant glow of both Llewelyn and the mysterious Siren that had lured Starbuck here. The glow of health and vitality was dizzyingly at odds with what seemed to be apparent death. Now as he gazed down at the Angylions, and actually knew what one looked like, he could almost believe that his imagination hadn't gone supernova when the vision of the alluring and magnificent creature filtered through his mind once again. In fact . . .

"The . . . the blonde woman . . ." Starbuck stammered, turning to regard Eirys while he thought back to his trip from one dimension to another. He was either about to receive a revelation, or make a total equine's astrum of himself. "I saw a beautiful blonde woman, with hair flowing down her back . . . she dangled the talisman in front of me . . ."

"Yes," Eirys nodded thoughtfully, smiling slightly.

"Was that . . . _you_, Eirys?" Starbuck asked. Vaguely, he remembered her telling Baltar that she had fought with the warrior all the way from one dimension to the other. He glanced at the traitor who was regarding him as though he had lost his mind. Which, of course, he told himself, was entirely possible.

Eirys smiled wryly. "Can you truthfully see any of _her_ in _me_?" She took a step back, fanning her hands out to her sides, and turning in a slow circle. The others trolls merely watched in silence.

"Well . . ." Enchanter and troll. They were about as different as two beings could be. Yet, there was something . . . "You're more _real _than she was. More sincere. Convincing. At least I don't read any ulterior motives," Starbuck replied, watching her features shift subtly as she listened to his words. "Is she your . . . _real_ form? As an Angylion?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Eirys replied bitterly. "But yes, that is my Angylion form. The form I was born to."

"As a race, we were vain. We thought we were invincible. Self-absorbed. Unequalled," Caradoc admitted, glancing at the princes. "Many of us believe that our internment as Odreds might be the Mystics' idea of poetic justice."

"Life has a way of humbling us," Baltar mused aloud, meeting Starbuck's sudden interest unflinchingly. "Someone once explained to me that a path to redemption is a long and humbling experience, and that the reward is more likely to come in the hereafter than the here and now. It makes the path that much more difficult to tread, and the reward entirely elusive."

"Ama," Starbuck murmured. He could almost _hear_ the words in her gruff voice. Lords, he could almost feel her presence there next to him as his Empyrean talismans tingled next to his skin. He placed his hand over his tunic, feeling a warmth radiating through it. It was the strangest sensation . . . as though through the necromancer's talisman they were somehow connected. But that was insane. Then again, _with Ama damn near everything seemed insane._

_Innamorato._

_Lu? Luana?_ He could swear his heart skipped a beat.

"We must hurry," Eirys said suddenly, urgently, pulling a golden orb from her plentiful skirts, and moving to stand by the eternally slumbering golden-haired prince. "Starbuck, come stand by me." She grasped his hand, trying to get his attention. "Please. Time grows short. Listen. When the time is right, I will prick your finger, allowing a drop of your blood to fall upon Prince Llewelyn."

"And then?" He asked as he took a place at the head of the altar. The four male trolls flanked him. In ceremony?

"The prince will rise, and the Angylion people will be restored," Eirys replied.

"What about Apollo . . . Prince Glynn?" Starbuck asked, hastily correcting himself as he found himself feeling protective about the dead ringer for his best friend. "What happens to him in this . . . ceremony?"

"I have not abandoned hope that Prince Glynn will also rise," Eirys replied elusively.

"How?" Starbuck asked, as she met his gaze, and then dropped it, glancing at the dark-haired prince. "If it would take my blood for Llewelyn to rise, then wouldn't it take Apollo's blood for Glynn to rise?"

"You neglected to mention your sideline of Sorcerer's apprentice, Starbuck," Eirys replied, her tone bordering on caustic.

"What can I say, huh? I'm a multi-talented guy," Starbuck returned casually. Something just wasn't sitting right with him . . .

"Just ask him," Baltar added unctuously.

"Just do as I ask, Starbuck, and _I'll_ worry about Glynn," Eirys returned.

"I admit that I'm curious, Starbuck . . . as to how many times Eirys tried to bring you across before she succeeded," Baltar inserted, walking casually around the altar, his movements slow and purposeful. It had a calming effect, as their attention was drawn to him. "After all, she managed to get me the first time around. Then again, considering the company I was keeping, it perhaps isn't too difficult to understand my succumbing to a pretty face."

Starbuck followed the man's progress as he came to pause by Prince Glynn. "Twice. Once while I was sleeping. The next on patrol when she succeeded. Why?"

"Because I recall Caradoc saying she had _failed_ twice before, and naturally I assumed she had meant twice with _you_ . . . but now it appears . . ." Baltar nodded towards the dark-haired prince. "Perhaps I was wrong?"

"Apollo," Starbuck realized. "You tried to get Apollo too, but you couldn't." He clutched tighter to the talisman beneath his tunic. "Is that how you ended up with Ama's talisman. . . ?"

"Which side are you on, Baltar?" Eirys said quietly. "Have you forgotten our agreement already?"

"I merely think that you would be more likely to get Starbuck's full cooperation if you are totally honest with him," Baltar shrugged. "He's already said that he would help. He's a Colonial Warrior, after all. One of our finest."

Oh, when Baltar started singing his praises, it was a sure sign that something was wrong! More than likely the traitor had suddenly decided that if Starbuck was expendable, then so was he. The warrior took a step back, stopping short as a blade pressed into his back.

"Halt," Caradoc growled. "A drop of blood is all we're after, Captain. Nothing more."

"Yeah? I'm not so sure . . ." Starbuck replied, reflexively raising his hands at another nudge from the blade. Again, his gaze flickered to Baltar. There was something in the traitor's eyes . . .

Baltar smiled, and then chuckled aloud. "You're not quite putting it together, are you, Starbuck? You know there's something amiss—your instinct is telling you so—but still it's evading you."

----------

"It's what?" asked Commander Adama, in the computer room. He looked a tad red-eyed, but this was too important to put off. "I'm not sure I understand all of that, Corporal. Ghosts?" Next to him, Croft looked equally sceptical.

"Well, it is kind of complicated, sir, I admit," said Komma. "But just as I was about to pack it in, I suddenly remembered a technique that's so old, you don't even find it in a lot of modern texts. It's called 'Quantum Ghost Imaging', sir. Simply put, it's a phenomenon of physics that allows images to be rendered through the pairing of photons that do not reflect or bounce _off_ an object, but off of _other_ photons that did, thereby creating a sort of 'ghost' image of it."

"Komma . . ." sighed Adama.

"Think of it, sir, like bouncing a ball off a wall. It bounces off another ball, affecting it in ways that can indicate that it has done precisely that. Say transferring paint or dust from the original impact." More silence. "Well, here," he brought the data up on his terminal. It was a view of Baltar's cell, with the traitor in full view. Baltar turned, stood up slowly, and reached out to whatever-it-was, before vanishing, as they had seen him done endlessly before. "This was the original scan from Baltar's cell. There was barely enough data to get _anything, _but when I finally tried this . . ." The images replayed, only this time . . .

"There's someone there," said Adama, leaning close. "A _woman_ in his cell?"

"Yes, sir," replied Komma. "I know the image quality is lousy, but we have her at last. Somehow, another person penetrated Baltar's cell, and at the exact moment that weird energy pattern passed through the Fleet, it took him. It, whatever _it _was, transported this woman here, and transported both her and Baltar away."

"Can you trace where they might have gone?" asked Croft.

"No, sir. Once the visitor vanished, the energy pattern collapsed and vanished as well." He zoomed in on the ghostly image, and both Adama and his exec studied it.

It was the figure of a woman, dressed in white, long flowing robes swirling behind her, along with her long hair. Whomever she was, she had been utterly gorgeous, with an almost ethereal beauty that hardly seemed Human. Adama was reminded of stories in _The Book of the Word, _describing Heavenly messengers, reputed to be of other-worldly beauty and radiance. Could _this _be such a Being? And if so, why had she come after _Baltar _of all people. She was barefooted, and tiny sparkles of light seemed to dance about her, like dust particles in sunlight. He could see only about half her face at this angle, but it was clear that her beauty affected Baltar enormously. Adama was surprised: the look on the traitor's face was not one of lust or desire, it was a look of utter wonderment. He reached out to her, and touched her hand.

Then, the both of them were gone. The cell was empty.

"My God," said Adama.

"What does it all mean, sirs?" asked Komma.

"I have no idea, Corporal," replied the Commander. "I . . . I just don't know."

----------

How many times had he changed his mind and his plan since landing in this troll infested hole? _Too many times_, sighed the traitor. _Too many times, Baltar_. He had considered his options minutely, over and over, primarily realizing that his future was now in a dimension utterly separate from that which had once been his own. Initially, he had thought that to be a dismal prospect, when he had considered living amongst a population of trolls, however sentient. A man had certain needs, after all. Decent food, rather than that swill on the Prison Barge, good wine, intelligent conversation with people who actually had brains. And, of course, a man had more, well, _visceral _needs, and his hadn't been attended to—at least by a comely mate—for as long back as he could remember. Yes, convicted traitors were people too. And even _Baltar_ yearned for satisfaction on a more carnal level . . . Still, when all was said and done, it beat life on the Prison Barge, and if there was even a chance that these trolls actually could be converted _back_ to a form that was compatible with Humans, things were looking up!

Besides, Eirys was a strangely compelling individual. A gutsy woman with a grim determination that was more befitting a man. It made him replay in his mind what she looked like in her Angylion form. With a woman like her at Baltar's side, he could go far in this society.

Still, Starbuck had been right about his earlier accusation. Damn him. Baltar _had_ considered crossing back over to the Cylon side. There was something completely _diabolical_—in a most delicious and devious sense, of course—about commandeering the only technologically advanced ship in that realm and spearheading a takeover of that universe. _Lord Baltar, the Magnificent._ _Baltar I, Ruler of the Universe. By your command, Imperious Baltar._ Ah, it had a nice ring to it. And if Eirys was with him . . . _Hmm_. The problem being that this group of centurions, dating from about a century before the Holocaust, would be completely unaware of Baltar's existence, and any approach on his part would most likely be responded to with the downward strike of a Cylon blade to the back of his neck. All Humans were to be eradicated, after all. Such was the Edict of Extermination from the old Imperious Leader. No, if he was to get his hands on the old Cylon Base Ship, it would have to be through a troll victory. He had to help these people win their war against the Alliance!

Intriguingly enough, there was something almost satisfying about being on the "right" side for a change. It was liberating and uplifting. It took him back to his younger yahrens when his motives were altruistic, and he had been a bit on the naïve side. Oh, to live like that again, without the bitter taste of realism and scepticism to cloud his judgment and pollute his dreams. Without the shattered hopes. How did a man get that idealism back again? Wasn't that why his kind procreated? To see the innocence and idealism in their own children that they had long since lost as adults? Or through love? What could blind a man more thoroughly than a pretty skirt? It was enough to make him laugh. Bitterly.

Of course, Baltar's tenuous alliance with the trolls and his promising future were suddenly hanging in the balance because of what Starbuck could reveal about his previous alliance with the Cylons, and an uncomfortable alliance was thus born. Oh, it had crossed his mind to just eliminate Starbuck from the quotient. Initially, he had thought that the pesky Colonial Warrior was intended to be some kind of sacrifice to the troll figurehead, to end up slaughtered like an animal on some alien altar. But, as more of the Angylion legend was revealed, Baltar began to realize that Eirys _could_ be in over her head. After all, what little he knew of Count Iblis had left him with the impression that the mysterious and alarming Being was not one to be fooled with. His powers were seemingly unlimited, and even more alarmingly, _unknown_. And once again, Iblis had aligned himself with the Cylons, leaving Baltar suspecting that his initial suspicions about Iblis were horrifyingly accurate.

_I know you. I remember that voice._

_Do you?_

_The voice of the Cylon Imperious Leader._

_But Cylons are machines._

_Yes. Now. But once they were a race of Beings who allowed themselves to be overcome by their own technology._

_And when did this happen?_

_A thousand yahrens ago. At the onset of the Thousand Yahren War against the Humans._

_Then for my voice to be the voice of the Imperious Leader, it would have to have been transcribed into machine leader a thousand yahrens ago. I'd have to be a thousand yahrens old._

Baltar still remembered his disbelief . . . oh, not that he had been wrong in his conclusions as Iblis had attempted to convince him, but that Count Iblis was a Being like none other he had ever met. A Being older than recorded history, folklore or myth. Older than the oceans and skies of the Twelve Worlds. Older than Kobol. Unthinkably old. Perhaps going back to the very beginning of the Universe, itself. And a Being that called him "old friend". Had he unwittingly been conspiring with Diabolis, against his will? For he strenuously believed that every decision he had ever made, however ill fated, had been his own. No other force, omnipotent or otherwise, had entered into it. Free will had guided his course, of that he was certain. It _had _to be!

And then Starbuck had gone and saved his life.

A debt of honour. It was tradition on Piscon. Oh, it was an old tradition, and one that he could simply ignore . . . but of late, those old traditions and values that he had long strayed from, and which he had so often sneered at, seemed to prey on his mind like maggots on a festering corpse. There was too much time to think while rotting in a cell, or on a planet of exile. Yes, psychologically he was much better suited to leading and commanding, than dwelling and ruminating. After all, the more he spoke aloud of regret and repentance, while trying to convince himself he did not truly mean it, the more often he seemed to be put in a situation to redeem himself—or at least his immortal soul—somewhat. Which was where he once again found himself, much to the delight, no doubt, of some twisted Lord of Kobol with too much immortal time on his long-dead hands. Which brought him back to the Holy Sanctum of the Angylions on Mt. Cadoc. . .

"You still need _Apollo_," Starbuck suddenly said to Eirys, never the sharpest blade in the drawer, but still bright enough to eventually put some of it together . . . with prompting. "You said, 'When together the princes rise, the spell will be broken.' This isn't going to work without him." The warrior held himself defensively, waiting for any eventuality, while still putting on the 'Starbuck face' that had bamboozled many an opponent.

Eirys held up a beautiful orb, crafted of a gilded metal. Baltar recognized it as the piece she had used to bring Starbuck into this realm. "This is the _Oculus_, Starbuck. It holds the power to raise the princes. Along with that which resides within your blood." Then she snapped, "_Caradoc_!"

It might have been funny that there was four midgets with knives at the infamous warrior's back, if the troll general hadn't grasped the back of Starbuck's belt with a tylinium grip, and pried the tip of the blade between his ribs before Eirys' command even left her lips._ I can sense their emotions . . . their mental state . . . _Starbuck jerked abruptly, his reaction to the abrupt pain visible. The threat was clear. If he moved, the general would bury the blade up to the hilt. Fast. Then they'd have all the blood they needed.

"Be still, and obey," Caradoc growled in warning. "I don't want to harm you, but I _will_ if necessary."

"It's the_ last _thing on my mind," Starbuck assured him.

"Being still, or obeying?" quipped Baltar, his arms crossed, as he tried to dispel the sudden tension.

"Silence!" Eirys approached Starbuck cautiously, grabbing a hold of his tunic and ripping the fastening open. She reached out almost tentatively before grabbing the two talismans resting on his chest. Then she looked up at him pointedly. There was no way in Hades Hole she'd be able to lift them over his head, and the thick leather cords would not permit her to rip them free. He raised an eyebrow, unwilling to help . . . at least until Caradoc advanced the blade a little more.

Starbuck winced, reflexively straining forward, even as troll hands grabbed his arms to restrain him. Another clambered in front of him, reaching up and severing the cords with a blade. Starbuck hissed, as a thin line of blood welled up across his chest. "I'm beginning to question your sincerity, Eirys," he murmured, meeting the troll's eyes.

"I was completely honest with you, Starbuck," she returned, taking a finger and running it along the cut, while she held the talismans tightly in her fist. She rubbed his blood between her fingers, her lips parting slightly, her eyes glistening. Then she paused as she idly traced the scar on his chest that was an exact image of his talisman. "What's this?"

"The mark of the Empyrean witch," Baltar adlibbed. "From what I understand, he is family."

"Family?" Eirys echoed, smiling slightly at the warrior. "You are more valuable than I realized."

Starbuck smiled cynically. "You just had to get to know me better."

"The mark . . ." she examined his scar more closely. "It's the same as the amulet. A brand?"

"It's a tough family to get into," he returned wryly.

"What does the amulet signify?" Eirys asked slowly.

Starbuck sniffed aloud. "It protects me from evil."

"Do you think _I'm_ evil?" Eirys asked, eyes boring into his.

"Well, you're not from the _Good Ship Lollipop_, Eirys."

"The Good Ship . . ." Eirys glanced at Baltar, who merely shrugged. She looked back at the warrior. "Is it protecting you now?" she asked with a pointed glance at the trolls still restraining the Viper pilot.

"Can't you tell?" Starbuck returned with a smile that might have been bravado, but was so damned convincing that even Baltar suddenly wasn't sure. Neither was Eirys.

_Lords! He has balls of tylinium!_

"Get on with it, Eirys," Caradoc said gruffly.

"It's _not_ going to work," Starbuck averred. "Hades Hole, can't you see that? I'm no wizard, and even I can figure it out! You need Apollo to break the curse. You said so yourself. You kill me, and even if you succeed in bringing him here, it would be pointless."

"Silence! I told you, we only need a drop of blood! My intention is not to kill you, Starbuck," Eirys snapped at him, angry that he would imply otherwise. She turned, and held the Oculus high over her head, beginning to chant in some ancient, unknown dialect, and closed her eyes. The trolls shifted uncomfortably, even as they held the warrior fast. Then the mountain grumbled and the ground shook. Eirys did not even pause.

A breeze began to blow. Gently at first.

"Oh, _frack_ . . ." Starbuck muttered.

Anxiously, the Colonial Warrior glanced at Baltar, who admittedly didn't know _what_ to think. He was a bureautician, a plotter, a schemer. This sort of thing was entirely beyond his experience. He shrugged. If it didn't work, then presumably all it would cost the warrior was a drop of blood. Eirys had said they only needed a drop. If it _did_ work, then the Angylion prince—or princes—were about to rise, and a race of trolls would be freed! Frankly, it didn't seem all that alarming, at least from Baltar's point of view. He found himself secretly wishing for the mystical spell, spoken in a guttural language of auld, to be successful. Admittedly, his desire to see Eirys transformed overweighed any curiosity about giving life to two men that looked like Starbuck and Apollo. After all, two of them was enough! And if that happened, they could move past this foreign ritual and on to the battle, which he was already planning. It would be a relief to progress from the incorporeal, to the tangible.

Eirys' tone peaked as she stood at the head of the altar, the wind now blowing her hideous tangled hair behind her. Beside her, Starbuck was now strangely docile, succumbing to his fate, while sucking great gasping breaths into his lungs, a troll hanging off of every limb. The sorceress held the Oculus high, giving it the appearance of an overseeing eye to the ritual. The gilded metal of the orb began to glow eerily, becoming more like a smoky glass or crystal, as though effected by some inexplicable energy. Then Caradoc gripped Starbuck's arm, prying it from his side, despite his abrupt resistance, the effort causing the troll to shake like the mountain around him. Another joined him, securing the Colonial anew, and when they saw his fist clench tightly, they pulled up his sleeve.

Eirys nodded calmly, her features serene, as she cradled the Oculus in one hand. The wind was screaming now, and lightning split the sky outside the mouth of the cave. Deftly, she reached within her skirts, withdrawing a blade. It was a long blade, made of some gold coloured metal, with a hilt of glittering crystal. The jewels set within it flickered with the light, as if, like the Oculus, it was lit from within. A litany of inarticulate, glottal sounds preceded an almost surgical slice of the blade across the warrior's taut forearm, as blood welled up from Starbuck's superficial wound.

The warrior's teeth were clenched, and Baltar could see him swallow visibly, as his arm was extended further over Prince Llewelyn. A gradual accumulation of blood formed a droplet which finally fell, landing on the prince's lips. Starbuck grimaced.

"_Gogyfur y'awdurdod o_ _sanctaidd Llyr_!" Eirys cried, holding the Oculus over the prince as the mountain rumbled again. "_Gogyfur y'awdurdod o_ _sanctaidd Llyr!__"_

Baltar held his breath, his eyes trained on the insensate young man that resembled Starbuck so eerily. For a moment, silence hung over the chamber, seeming to serve as an omen of some great event. Even the wind stilled.

But moments later, nothing had happened. Nothing.

"I told you," Starbuck murmured, his voice coarse, despite his words.

Eirys tilted her chin up higher, meeting the warrior's eyes. "More blood . . ." she said determinedly.

"I was . . . afraid you were going to say that."

----------

Far below, the IL Series Cylon Mendax looked up from the reports on the almost completed work, towards the distant bulk of the mountain the slaves called _Cadoc. _Once again, the mountain seemed to be rumbling, the tremors spreading out across the landscape. While as a Cylon he possessed no mystical bent or predilection, Mendax was nonetheless curious about that mountain. The slaves seemed to be in awe of it, and now, as he looked up, he saw lightning flash, and something glinting in the gathering darkness. His enhanced Cylon senses allowed him to see with vastly greater clarity and proximity than any mere organic scum, and now, he saw . . .

What? He wasn't sure. Something was going on up there, if the growing agitation among the slaves was anything to go by. More and more of them were looking up that way, and muttering in their guttural speech, repeating _Cadoc_ over and over_._ Something told Mendax that all was not right.

"Centurion Plectus," he called. A Gold Command centurion approached.

"By-your-command."

"Take a foot patrol, and go up there," said Mendax, pointing towards the mountain. It had been yahrens since the Cylons had gone up to the old burial site, and the path was treacherous. "Report back to me what is going on, Centurion."

"By-your-command."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

What was Ama waiting for?

Dayton sucked in a deep breath, letting it out again slowly, and with it the frustration he was feeling. They'd been standing there in that little witch's circle, thinking about Starbuck for at least ten minutes. He was beginning to feel a little bit foolish, and suspected that any second now Baker and Porter would burst through the door with a vid-cam, recording for posterity his inclusion into the Occult. Or at the very least, the Addams Family! The longer it went on, the more ridiculous he felt. What the hell was he thinking when he agreed to this?

"Blessed Goddess Triquetra, Mother, Maiden, Crone. I call upon your aide for a need not of my own," Ama suddenly intoned in Colonial Standard. It only added to the . . . _otherness _of the occasion.

Up until then, everything she had chanted had been in some strange, unintelligible language, and it had made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, as his skin prickled, making Dayton want to scratch it off. With one eye, half-open, he glanced at the necromancer. He startled to see a sort of . . .golden _aura_ enveloping her. She stared back at him, her grey eyes boring into his own, as if she had _known _he was looking.

Then she winked.

Feeling like he did when old Grandmother Dayton caught him snoozing in church at the rebellious age of twelve, he closed his eyes once again. Dayton sucked in a deep breath, trying to focus on an image of the Colonial Warrior that was like a son to him. _Where are you, kid?_

"I sense his spirit, wilful and strong! Unbending and proud! Oh All-Seeing, most Wondrous Triquetra, guide us along!"

"Oh crap . . ." Ryan murmured quietly. "Is it too late to mention I get car sick?"

"_Paddy_," Dayton growled.

"Just remember to concentrate on Starbuck while your stomach is heaving, Paddy-Ryan," Ama suddenly quipped.

"Shouldn't be too hard . . ." Ryan returned.

Wordlessly, Dayton flailed out with a foot, landing it on Ryan's butt.

"Ama!" Lia cried abruptly.

"I feel him too!" Luana added.

"So did I!" muttered Ryan, even more quietly.

"Come to me, son . . ." Ama intoned. "Let the energies of the unlimited unite! Let our collective power carry us to Starbuck!"

"Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen. From the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away, dash away all!" Ryan added, in keeping with the spirit of the occasion.

"God help me," muttered Dayton. Ryan could be so . . . so _Ryan!_ at times. Why, oh WHY couldn't he have listened to Mom, and taken that job at Boeing? He sighed, gripping Cassiopeia's hand tightly. Gradually, his body began to tingle, at first gently, then with greater energy, as if countless needles were being pressed into his flesh. It kept growing, until it reached an almost painful level of intensity. His stomach twisted in knots, as his head began to spin. Unable to control himself, his eyes flew open. It was blinding! Like staring into an impossibly bright light that had no apparent source.

"Mark . . ." Cassie whimpered beside him.

"I'm here, Cassiopeia. I've got you," he replied, squeezing her hand in reassurance even as the bright light exploded into a billion fragments and he felt himself plunging downward, as if their very deck had dissolved beneath their feet. Downwards, towards an illustrious brilliance.

----------

_More blood. That definitely wasn't good._

Starbuck figured he'd been pretty patient up until then with the ugly little people who had yanked him out of his dimension into their own, under the pretence of needing a _drop_ of blood to save their race. Yeah, they'd made him climb up a mountain, inadvertently forced him into an uneasy alliance with Baltar, and pressed him into this weird-astrum ritual to raise some dead guy that looked like his twin brother. But demanding more blood was going just a little too far. Now if he could only . . .

"Surely, you're going a little too far?" Baltar suddenly asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Baltar as the voice of reason. Lords, Starbuck knew he might as well end it all now!

"I'll second that," Starbuck added, twisting in the grip of the trolls, wondering if Baltar would offer him the distraction that he needed. The point of a blade broke the skin at his throat, and he could feel a small trickle of blood wind a path down his neck.

"It didn't work, Eirys," Baltar walked towards her slowly, holding up a hand as if to reassure her he meant no harm. "Now, I'm no sorcerer, but I'm wondering if perhaps a curse placed by someone with the power of a . . . a _Mystic_, could actually be reversed by an Angylion _Sorceress_. What if it is merely _beyond_ your powers?" He pointed at Starbuck. "Can you _truly_ rationalize the sacrifice of one more life? Especially when he _is_ the Doublewalker of your _own_ Prince. Would not Starbuck's death seal Prince Llewelyn's fate for all of eternity?"

The troll sorceress met his eyes, then her features shifted subtly, until she looked uncertain. Her gaze flickered between Starbuck and Baltar. "I said I would raise the King! I promised my people! They are depending on me!"

"Maybe, just possibly . . . you need _help_," Baltar suggested, and Starbuck could hear the familiar _wheedle_ come into the traitor's tone. "I know you're trying to lure _her_ here, Eirys. This boy is not your only hope. Is he?"

Eirys raised her head haughtily. "You see much, Baltar."

"I have always sought to make it my business to explore _all_ possibilities, gentle Eirys." He clasped his hands together in front of him.

"You're after Ama?" Starbuck blinked. "I thought you were after . . . Apollo."

"Having trouble keeping up?" Baltar smiled.

"You're not exactly catching me at my best."

"Have I ever, Lieutenant?" needled the traitor.

"I guess deceit doesn't come as easily to me," he returned, ignoring Baltar's persistent habit of demoting him, before looking back at the troll. "Then this was all . . . for what?"

"If I may?" Baltar asked Eirys. She nodded and he continued in his most convincing bureautician's voice. "I believe if the ritual failed, Eirys meant for you to be the bait, Starbuck. Presumably, if Eirys can see into our dimension, than if your Empyrean witch is worth her salt in supernatural ability, then she too would see _you_ are in need of help." Baltar glanced at the troll sorceress. "Is that not so?"

"The _Telling_ also told of a White Witch whose powers were unparalleled," Eirys admitted quietly. "I found her in your dimension, but she perceived me as a threat."

"I wonder why," Starbuck deadpanned. "You don't want to fool with Ama, Eirys. She doesn't take kindly to threats to her or anybody else she cares about."

"She wouldn't listen to me. I had no other recourse," Eirys defended herself.

"Felgercarb!" Starbuck shouted, abruptly planting a foot against the altar before him, and launching himself backwards against the restraining trolls. In a mass of arms, legs, and knives, they tumbled to the ground.

"Do not harm him!" Eirys shouted. "We need him alive!"

Suddenly freed from restraining hands, Starbuck gripped his throat from where he lay on the ground, probing the superficial cut he found there. His hand came away bloody, despite the inconsequential nature of the wound. The trolls spread out around him, keeping their distance, but surrounding him nonetheless.

"_Eirys_!" Caradoc growled in warning.

"I see it."

Gradually, like a gentle mist rolling in off an ocean, a shimmering light appeared, growing more and more intense until the very air crackled with energy. Outside, lightning once again split the sky, and the heavens seemed to roar in warning, the wind screaming. A sudden burst of light blinded them, and Starbuck reflexively shielded his eyes, even as he sensed an abrupt ensuing darkness as the torches around them extinguished inexplicably. Through the field of stars dancing across his vision, a sudden aurora of light appeared. Starbuck blinked, trying to make out the figures before him, hoping rising in his chest.

"Hey, Dayton! This looks like a job for the A-Team!"

----------

"Sir! The task force is gone!" Cadet Sagaris announced, looking at his scanners.

"Are you locked on?" Dorado asked, moving a little awkwardly to the station. The damn rebuilt Cylon legs still didn't feel like his own.

"I was, Sir, for all of a micron. Point seven four six of a micron, to be exact. The transceiver Commander Dayton was carrying was functioning nominally, and then it just stopped."

"Dead?" Dorado asked, turning his head slightly so he was looking full on at the screen. He was finally automatically compensating for having only one good eye.

"Are you referring to the signal, or the commander?" Malus asked.

"The _signal_ . . ." Dorado growled at the IL, before turning back to the cadet. "Sagaris?"

"We lost the signal."

"Can you extract the failure mode from the telemetry?"

"Trying, sir." Sagaris worked his instruments for a few long moments. "Yes. There _did _appear to be some kind of weird fluctuation . . ."

"Weird, Sagaris? With everything's that's gone on since before we left the Fleet, you actually reported a scanner anomaly as 'weird'?" Dorado sighed, shaking his head. "Define 'weird' cadet!"

"Sorry, Captain. But it was so infinitesimal, that the computer's still trying to isolate it . . ." Sagaris explained. "Our high speed signal processor is trying to compensate, but . . ." he groaned. "Lords, it just shut down, Captain. I think I've blown a circuit." He snarled, and tried to reroute the system.

"Malus, take a look," Dorado ordered the IL.

"I've already 'looked', as you call it," Malus replied, unplugging the digit that acted as an interface directly into the main computers. "I detected both thermal and energy fluctuations in the Life Station. Sensors record unusual magnetic flux patterns, and an ionisation track that leads from those coordinates straight to the energy source that Starbuck disappeared into."

"Wait a centon," Sagaris looked up at the IL in astonishment. "I didn't see any of that . . . magnetic flux patterns . . ." He shook his head, looking between his CO and the Cylon. He looked down, and replayed the data.

"That's because Malus perceives these readouts more on a mathematical level, Sagaris," Dorado replied. "We're limited by our own technology, and how we interpret it."

"Several mathematical levels, actually," Malus spoke up. "If I could isolate the level of electromagnetic fluctuation and find some way to replicate it . . ." His head jerked spasmodically to the right. "Oh _my_!"

"What are the odds of that?" Dorado asked sceptically.

"Dismal," Malus admitted. "Still, someone has achieved this . . . action. If it can be done once, then it can be done again, and we can figure out how." His head jerked again. "How strange."

"Maybe it's time for that diagnostic, Mal," Dorado suggested. "Any idea how long it might take to figure this out?"

"Not at this time, Captain. But I have to find Starbuck. He is my friend."

"Do what you can, Mal. I'm open to suggestions," Dorado encouraged him.

"May I use his office, Captain Dorado?"

"His office?" Dorado asked. "Why?"

"I think having his things around me will make me function at a more optimal level."

_Bloody Lords! Have I got a Cylon in love on my hands?_ "That's weird, Malus," Dorado frowned.

"With everything's that's gone on since before we left the Fleet, you'd actually describe anything that I could do as 'weird'," Malus asked.

Dorado sniffed in wry amusement. "Yeah, go ahead. What do you need?"

"Full access to all sensor logs since leaving the Fleet. And one of our computer or physicist experts."

"Right. Coxcoxtli?"

"Sir?"

"You're with Malus."

"Sir."

"Get Baker down there as well, and keep me posted." Try as he might, he couldn't get the image out of his head of Malus sitting at Starbuck's desk, trying to light up a fumarello. "You know, you've been hanging out with Starbuck too long, Mal."

"Not long enough, Captain Dorado. Not nearly long enough," replied the IL.

----------

It was like something from right out of Tolkien , decided Dayton, as he stared in bewilderment at the scene unfolding before him. Hideous little creatures, looking for the world like "goblins", surrounded two altars, on which two guys that were almost dead ringers for Starbuck and Apollo lay, apparently insensate. A double take later, he realized that both Starbuck and Baltar were also there, and, somehow not surprisingly, Starbuck looked like something out of a really bad horror show, blood running down his neck, and chest as he clutched his throat, while guarding his eyes. One sleeve was rolled up, and blood also trailed down his forearm and hand. All that was missing was Bela Lugosi. For his part, Baltar appeared unharmed, and somehow that didn't surprise the _Endeavour_ commander. Goblins and humans alike were blinded by the same ethereal light that had "transported" the _Endeavour_ crew members there, granting the invading force a serious advantage. Dayton abruptly pulled his weapon, sensing Paddy moving to the right, and finding cover, while simultaneously seeking higher ground, responding quicker than any of the Colonial Warriors who were still taking it all in, as though in utter mental shock.

After thirty years in hell, Paddy would move to further their advantage, succumbing to shock later. Like maybe back on Earth.

"Spread out! Lasers on stun!" Dayton ordered. _God, did I say that? That is like just sooooo Trek! _He drew his portable scanner, but by then Apollo, Dietra, Luana and Lia had recovered sufficiently for their training to kick in. Their weapons were drawn as well, and they were fanning out to surround the visions of ugliness before them. Cassie stood back, but Ama merely watched with that detached interest she seemed to specialize in. The revolting little creatures turned to face them fearlessly, pulling swords from scabbards, which lead Dayton to believe that was the extent of their firepower. Then, almost unbelievably, the creatures swarmed Baltar, holding a Colonial Weapon to his head. Undoubtedly, Starbuck's.

"Halt, or we will kill him!" the cursed creature cried. "Do you hear me! I will open him up right here!"

"Go for it! There's another two hundred just like him on the Prison Barge!" Ryan shouted maniacally. The troll turned, seeking out the source of the voice, as Paddy leapt down from a rock precipice, grabbing a grubby little being that was standing apart from the others, clutching something in both hands. The creature shrieked. In a blur, it was held fast, a laser jammed in its ear. "Stand down, you filthy, stinkin' little beasts! Do you hear me? Stand down now, or Medusa gets it!"

_Good man!_ Dayton grinned. The commander had also selected the same creature to be their leader. Something in its manner . . .

"Eirys!" another creature shouted, slowly lowering the weapon that it held to Baltar's head.

"Drop your weapons!" Dayton bellowed, his voice ringing through the cavern like a megaphone. "I'm not saying it again!"

The moment seemed to drag on indefinitely, then the tattered, little grub that Ryan was clutching called out, "Lay down your arms! This was _not_ my intention!"

The clang of metal hitting stone rang out around the cavern as the beings dropped their weapons, and released Baltar.

"Kick them over here!" ordered Dayton. The others did so. Without being asked, Lia slipped in, and gathered up the cutlery. Dayton tossed her a smile. _Thinks fast! _He then looked at Apollo. The colonel waved at the creatures with his weapon, herding them in a circle. Starbuck was arduously climbing to his feet, when Luana flew to his side before anyone else

"What took you so long?" Starbuck quipped, as Lu first clutched him to her, and then stood back to examine his bleeding neck, chest and arm. "It's nothing," he reassured her.

"Can't you stay out of trouble for _one _day?" Luana asked him, grabbing him roughly by the flight jacket, and looking him over carefully, reassuring herself he was speaking the truth. Wordlessly, Cassie moved in and began checking his injuries, running the biomonitor over him.

"Yeah, what is it with you, _Mocha Frappuccino_?" Dayton echoed the sentiment. "What the hell is going on here?"

"They were after Ama . . ." Starbuck turned to regard the necromancer, who was standing back, her piercing grey eyes examining every subtle detail and nuance.

Ama raised her eyebrows at the comment, striding forward purposely as she moved to stand before Ryan's prisoner. "Well, here I am. I believe you have something of mine, Hag."

"_Eirys_," the creature responded, her chin tilted upward to regard the other as she clutched talismans in one hand, and the Oculus in her other. "And you're not exactly a vision of loveliness yourself, Witch."

Baltar chuckled aloud. "I like her more with each passing centon."

Ama too laughed softly, as she snatched the talismans. "Normally, I would turn you into a wild putrid for such insolence, Hag, but I believe someone else has . . . as Dayton might say, stolen my thunder."

"Count Iblis," Starbuck inserted. "These people have a story you all need to listen to, Ama. I'm serious." He glanced at Apollo who was standing over the altars, staring at the two dead men with his mouth agape. Starbuck knew just how he felt. "But before we get started, you should know this whole land is crawling with Cylons. Cylons that are repairing an _Abaddon_ Base Ship, getting ready to launch it into an entirely separate dimension to dominate and destroy God only knows what's out there."

"Are you telling me that after these people tried to cut your throat, that you want us to . . . _help_ them?" Dayton asked Starbuck in disbelief. He glanced at Cassie, who was pulling a field dressing from her med kit. "Check him for another head injury, would ya? He's due."

Eirys looked at Starbuck first in surprise, and then gratefully.

"Look, kid, this was supposed to be a quick in, quick out mission," Dayton continued. "Objective: find you and bring you home."

"Are you _listening_, old man?" Starbuck threw back at him, brushing Cassie's attempts aside. Ryan moved to her side, grabbing the warrior's arm and holding it for her to wrap. Starbuck glanced at them in irritation, until Ryan snarled at him. Then he rolled his eyes and stood patiently, while exclaiming, "Cylons, Dayton! Base Ship!"

"This isn't our fight, Starbuck!" Dayton replied.

"I'm not so sure about that, Mark-Dayton," Ama informed him.

"Wait a centon," Baltar interrupted. "How is it that when both Starbuck and I entered this dimension, we felt as though we'd been torn inside out, and limb from limb. Yet, you're all fine?" He frowned as Dietra and Lia flanked him, both taking an elbow.

"To put it in relative terms that you would understand, the Hag shot you through a launch tube unprotected, while I remembered to bring my ship," the necromancer replied.

Eirys nodded, gazing at Ama _almost_ reverently. "The _Telling_ was correct. The White Witch's powers _are _unparalleled. She will be our champion against Iblis."

"Champion against Iblis?" Ama echoed, looking upward and rolling her eyes. "Oh, why do I feel as though I've been set up, John?"

"Jaysus Murphy!" Ryan moaned forlornly. "This is going to get weird again, isn't it?"

"You have _no_ idea," Ama returned with a smile, before reaching out, taking the talismans from the troll. "What is this bauble you hold so protectively to your heart, Hag?"

"It is no _bauble_," Eirys replied indignantly. "It is the Oculus!"

"If her powers are so great, how is it she does not know of the Oculus?" another creature remarked.

"Starbuck . . ." Apollo rasped, pointing at the two princes with a trembling hand. "What in the nine Lords of Kobol . . .?"

"Our Doublewalkers, buddy," Starbuck replied, suddenly smiling. "I'm telling you, it's quite the story. If only half of it's true, it would still be worth writing down and selling. We'd make a fortune . . ."

"Wait!" said Baltar. "Do you hear something? Marching! Someone is . . ."

Someone's scanner began beeping loudly. They all looked up, as a laser blast from the mouth of the cavern interrupted Starbuck's latest "get rich quick" scheme.

"Cylons!"

"Surrender-Humans!"

"Oh great! Where's Gandalf when we need him?" said Ryan.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Get down!" Dayton yelled, pulling his weapon and taking out the first centurion. Its chest blew open in a mass of sparks and smoke, and it toppled with a crash. Another fired, and there was a scream. Dayton fired back, blowing the Cylon's face off, then pivoting to look behind him as dread seized him by the throat. The scream echoed through his brain. He damn well knew it was . . .

Cassiopeia's eyes were wide with shock and her alabaster skin was ashen, as she slumped against Ryan. Paddy looked as surprised as the med tech, tripping over his own feet as she stumbled against him. Together they dropped to the ground, which scared the hell out of Dayton even more. To make matters worse, Baltar, of all people, squatted down beside them! Dayton started towards them, instead jerking to a halt and diving for cover behind one of the shrine's upright stones, when he felt the heat of a Cylon laser blast just about singe his nose hairs. Continuous fire on his position pinned him down.

"Starbuck!" Lu shouted.

With a glance to the left, Dayton could see that the strike captain had liberated his wife's weapon, which Starbuck would no doubt pay for later. He pulled her aside, and then fired off several shots at the advancing centurions, before grabbing Lu's arm and diving for the cover of the altars as he too was targeted. Cylon lasers ripped up the ground where he had been, missing him by centimetrons.

Apollo was meanwhile following the same high road that Ryan had taken earlier, getting above the Cylons. In no time, he would gain the vantage point that would decimate them . . . as long as he could finish _them_ before they spotted _him_. If he was caught precariously balanced on a rock ledge, he'd have little chance.

Dietra and Lia were providing covering fire, giving their colonel every opportunity to succeed as more Cylons flooded in. How big was this bloody patrol, anyhow?

The goblins seemed to fade into the landscape, their dark clothing blending into the dour background. At first Dayton thought they were hiding, but he realized that they had stealthily retrieved their weapons and were advancing on the Cylons. With astonishment he watched them trip one up, by a goblin throwing itself at the centurion's legs and upsetting its balance, while compatriots violently attacked the Cylon with blades, swords, rocks and anything else available. One goblin fell to a centurion's sword, its head cloven in a single blow, while another Cylon had its faceplate smashed in by a rock. A third was knocked down by another "cannonballing" goblin from behind the knees. A moment later, the rest of them fell upon the trashcan with their weapons, doing their worst.

"Regroup!" droned the patrol leader, a gold-plated centurion. "Regroup!" Dayton fired at that one. He missed, and the centurion rather nimbly ducked back into the cave mouth.

It gave him his chance.

Dayton fired again, but only hit the rock over the cave mouth. But it was enough to make Goldilocks keep his mechanical head down, and the Earthman ran for his lady, to find her on the ground, in a heap, off to Paddy's side. A quick glance revealed his friend raising a hand briefly, as though in casual greeting, then let it drop back down to his stomach. Much to Dayton's surprise, not two feet away, behind the totally inadequate cover of an outcrop of rock, Baltar was firing at the same gold centurion, covering him. Vaguely, he wondered where the traitor had obtained the weapon, but a moment later it ceased to matter when, even more to his surprise, the Colonial con-on-the-lam took the walking dumpster down, blowing its leg off, and sending it toppling to the ground.

"_By your command_!" Baltar raved, firing off another shot at a nearby centurion.

"Cassiopeia! Cassiopeia!" Dayton cried, as he dropped to his knees on the ground beside her. She lay on her side, hand to her right hip. In the dim light, he couldn't make out how serious her injury was, but her face was twisted in pain.

"I'm . . . I'm okay, Mark," she returned breathlessly. "It's sore, but superficial. I never . . . well . . . " Tears of pain and fear filled her blue eyes.

"Shh! I'm here," he assured her, pausing briefly to wipe away her tears, as he steeled himself. Feeling more panic than he would like to admit, Dayton leaned down and looked at the wound. She drew in a sharp breath, as he pulled the ruined material of her form-fitting black fatigues away from her charred flesh. Sure enough, it seemed the beam had merely sheared the surface, leaving a burn that would hurt like hell, but it was hardly life threatening. He let out a breath of relief. "Yeah, sweetheart. I guess you're right."

His heart stopped trying to climb up his throat and leap out of his mouth. Finally, he turned his attention to his friend of thirty years, almost wondering why he hadn't heard any witty—or witless—retorts by now. "Okay Paddy, how about you?"

But Patrick Ryan did not respond.

"Paddy? Paddy?" Nothing. "_PADDY!!!__"_

_----------_

"Adama, that's about as crazy as that Count Iblis story you told me," Cain shook his head, his features betraying his incredulity over the private comm link. "I mean _really_!"

"Yet, every word of it is true, Cain," Adama stroked his chin thoughtfully, sitting back in the chair in his office. "And it leaves me wondering if Iblis is back, or if this is another attempt of the Beings from the Ship of Lights to communicate with us."

"You said that once when they communicated with you, that you ended up parsecs away, interrupting a nuclear war."

"Yes, which is why I think the time might be right for the _Pegasus_ to take a shakedown cruise of her own . . ."

Cain chuckled. "Now, Adama, didn't you just point out to this old war-equine that Commander Dayton wouldn't appreciate me stepping in where I'm not wanted."

"That was before, when I believed the Cylons might be involved, somehow." Adama shrugged. "This latest information from Corporal Komma infers something radically different. I don't know who or what precisely this Being is, where she comes from, or what it is that she wants. . ."

"Well, I'll be there to back up the _Endeavour_, regardless," Cain replied. "We'll be ready to leave . . ." he glanced at his chrono, smiling slightly, "in two centons."

"About as much time as it will take for you to issue the order, and get to the Bridge," Adama smiled, shaking his head knowingly. "You're ready to ship out. Were you going to await my order, or just fabricate some excuse to get out there, old friend?"

An animation filled the other's face, making him appear yahrens younger. He smiled, considering it. "Well, the answer to that doesn't really matter anymore. Does it?"

"So it would appear."

"That's the problem with us working together, Adama," grinned Cain. "You know me too well."

"_Cain_," Adama murmured disapprovingly.

"Must be this damn implant misfiring," Cain tapped the side of his head, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. All recent checks of the neural implant had it functioning optimally. However, that didn't stop Cain from using it for the rare excuse he felt he should offer. "I'll have Tigh take over, while I report to the Life Station for a quick check up."

"Yes, I'll just_ bet_ you will . . ." Adama returned doubtfully. "Thank the blessed Lords you're on _our_ side. Good luck."

"Luck rarely enters into it, Adama," the Juggernaut returned. "Cain out."

_----------_

Baker sighed, looking over the chewed rim of his java cup, from where he sat at the desk, watching Malus. The IL continued to clean up Starbuck's office as he rambled off endless reams of mathematical data and equations about wormholes, black holes, alternate dimensions, temporal displacement, various methods of entry into hyperspace, and other theoretical anomalies. Oh, the Cylon didn't use the same _terminology_, preferring to speak of "emissions of particles and light with characteristic energy spectra", in addition to "detectable electromagnetic fields continuously fluctuating", while he calculated endless algorithms, and myriad permutations of dozens of mathematical theorems that had Baker's head swimming. Occasionally, Malus would stop to make a comment, or to ask a question—or strangely enough—to twitch, but so far the most salient advice Baker and Coxcoxtli had offered was which perishable items Malus could safely dispose of as he began to make a dent in the disaster, no, make that toxic waste dump, that Starbuck worked in.

"Using the plasma model for the metal dielectric function we have calculated the electromagnetic-fluctuation-induced forces to within a tolerance of . . ."

Malus continued to natter incessantly, as he started tidying a shelf unit, actually relocating items from Starbuck's overflowing desk to it. Baker blinked, trying to keep up, and actually felt a little relieved when he saw that Coxcoxtli's eyes looked as though they were glazing over on the opposite side of the desk.

"The force for unit area is considerable and it shows an intensity maximum at a specific plasma value, which cannot be predicted on the basis of a non-retarded description of the electromagnetic interaction," Malus added, glancing at the Humans. "This is rather stimulating, I must say! It reminds me of the time that Commander Yugra ordered me to wipe select data from my memory base after . . ." He paused, his head twitching to the side once again. "Hmm. It's rather persistent."

"Nervous twitch, Mal?" Baker asked, frowning. He'd seen several weird behaviours from the IL, but admittedly was hardly an authority on Cylons. "Maybe you should finally run that diagnostic you've been avoiding all these years."

"You're the second person to mention that today," Malus returned, before launching into another mind-boggling speech, while motioning to the sensor logs, stacked haphazardly on a corner of the desk, threatening to topple, like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Apparently, they indicated something pertinent.

Baker nodded, taking his feet off the desk and leaning forward to consider the data. Maybe it meant something to a _Cylon_, but it sure as hell didn't to him. Man, he was going to kill Dayton just as soon as his fearless leader returned from this mission. What he wouldn't give to change places with him now . . .

"It is shown that the force can change the sign from attraction to repulsion upon changing the substrate plasma frequency . . ." Malus continued. He once more focused on Baker. "You follow, of course."

"Of course," wheezed Baker.

"Excellent. So you see, it should be a trifling matter, to adjust the towing beam to repel, and use it as a weapon. Therefore, by analogy, the phenomenon itself can be reversed as it were, and we should be able to . . ." His head twitched to the right once again as his monologue abruptly died. Almost eerily, he stood as still as a statue. It reminded Baker of a certain character rusting up in Oz.

Suddenly, the lights in Malus' head started flickering erratically, looking like a disco ball. Still the IL remained motionless. The Earthman glanced over at Coxcoxtli.

"Is he going to blow?" the younger man asked.

"Not sure," Baker replied, getting to his feet and knocking on Malus' head. "Mal? You in there? I left my oilcan in my other suit, Tin Man."

Then slowly, Malus seemed to come to "life", turning his head to straighten it, and then methodically moving towards the computer.

"Malus?" Baker asked.

"I think I may need that diagnostic, after all."

----------

Apollo started firing from his precarious position upon a rocky ledge directly above the advancing Cylons, taking down two before they could compute the data, and figure out where the newest attack was coming from. A moment later, the rock wall beside him exploded from the blast of a pulse rifle. He raised his arm, covering his face as his body was pummelled by heat and rock fragments. Twisting to the side, he could feel his heel slip, as the ledge below him began to crumble. If he didn't do something, he'd either get shot, or fall, neither option attractive. Meanwhile Dietra was springing towards the fallen Ryan, uncharacteristically unmindful of her safety as Dayton called his friend's name desperately. The Cylon below Apollo took aim at the running lieutenant, oblivious to all but his target. A milli-centon later Apollo took a leap of faith, and gravity, pushing himself off the wall of the cave with a hand before the strata under him gave way completely, despite knowing that Cylons weren't any softer than rocks.

_For the Glory of Caprica!_

He crashed down on top of the centurion, sending its weapon flying from its grasp as it tumbled to the ground. Apollo rolled, then scrambled to put some distance between them, meanwhile gripping his own weapon tightly, making sure he didn't inadvertently drop it. A bare metron away, the colonel rolled onto his back, raising the pistol in both hands, taking aim and firing. The Cylon, halfway back onto its feet, took the shot directly, jerking spasmodically, sparks and smoke flaring from its savaged chest, before it dropped limply to the ground.

"Apollo! Get down!" a voice hollered.

Apollo flattened himself, feeling the heat from the laser blast that passed over him. He gritted his teeth from the pain as it burned his skin. An answering beam took out the centurion that he hadn't even seen. Gratefully, he took in the smoking Cylon, then he glanced at Lia, who was still poised for action, her weapon sweeping the area for the enemy.

"I think we nailed them!" she called out, but didn't drop the defensive stance. Sure enough, the entire Cylon patrol was destroyed, with but two casualties on the part of the Colonials.

Starbuck cautiously climbed to his feet from behind the altar, pulling Luana up beside him. She scowled at him, holding out her hand for the weapon he had jerked out of her holster when the Cylon attack had begun. He smiled weakly, returning it. "Thanks for the loan."

"If you _ever_ do that again . . ." she paused, sighing and brushing back a stray tendril of hair, as she glanced over to the injured. She motioned over. "Starbuck . . ."

Starbuck nodded, doing a quick visual sweep of the area. The Odreds were gathering up Cylon pulse rifles, which didn't exactly fill him with confidence, but in light of their abrupt alliance, he could only hope for the best, and be prepared. Ama and Eirys seemed to be checking out the princes. To his untrained eye, they looked just as dead as they had before . . . without any further holes in them from the exchange, thankfully. He leaned in closer to Lu and murmured in her ear, "Find a vantage point and keep the trolls covered." He squeezed her hand.

"Right."

"Go."

As Lu crept away, Starbuck glanced at the entrance where Apollo and Lia were already preparing to check their perimeter. "Yo! Apollo! Got it?" he called out, wondering if they needed his help.

"Got it!" Apollo returned, waving a hand in dismissal before they disappeared through the mouth of the cave to the outside.

Starbuck waited a micron, listening for the sound of shots being exchanged. There was none. "How bad is it?" he asked, crossing over to squeeze Dayton's shoulder as the Earthman kneeled beside Cassie, watching as the med tech studied her biomonitor results. Dietra kneeled on the other side, biting her lip and smoothing back Ryan's unruly grey hair. She blinked frequently, and then wiped at traitorous tears that spilled over onto her cheeks. Paddy was coming to, and his face twisted into a grimace of misery as he groaned and opened his eyes, looking about wildly, as he tried to curl into a tight ball.

"Easy, Paddy," Cassiopeia murmured, instantly dosing him with her hypospray. "I need to finish my assessment. Lie still."

"I'm here, Paddy. So is Dee." Dayton reached for his friend's hands as Ryan reflexively sought out the source of the pain. Meanwhile, Dietra leaned over her man, murmuring softly in his ear. Dayton continued to speak to him, trying to keep him grounded, "Cassiopeia's just checking you out, bud. You got shot. Belly wound."

"_Really_ . . .?" Ryan gasped, sucking in a breath through his teeth and then panting like a winded man. He squeezed Dayton's hands, his grip feeling like a crushing vice. It was an indication of the pain he was in. "Lord thunderin' Jaysus, Mark, it feels like . . . that friggin' obediator is . . . is back inside of me . . ." He glanced up at Dietra, and he made an effort to control his breathing, pasting on a wan smile. "Ah, an angel."

"You're going to be okay, Paddy," Dee whispered huskily.

Ryan nodded, his teeth clenching with the pain, and his face contorting again.

"How bad is it, Cassiopeia?" Dayton repeated. He looked from his fallen friend, to his lover.

"Bad enough that . . . we're holding hands . . . Snookums," Ryan quipped with effort.

"Stop dramatizing, Puddin'," Dayton returned softly. "You'll be okay."

Of course he'd be okay. He _had_ to be!

Cassie adjusted her biomonitor, her own features impassive as she began pulling equipment out of her bag. "I'm going to have to open him up. There's internal bleeding. Fortunately, the beam had lost some energy before it hit. How much I don't know." She glanced around the cavern, shaking her head slightly. The conditions weren't exactly conducive to a surgery. A moment later she worked on establishing an intravenous. "The laser cuts through tissue, destroying it. The problem is that even if I stop the bleeding, I won't know how much surrounding tissue will start to necrose later from the laser." Cylon weapons were deliberately modulated to be as destructive to Human tissue as possible. She had learned that over Kobol, with Serina. "It sometimes takes a while to demarcate, yet I don't want to cut away bowel unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Tell me she didn't say 'bowel'," Ryan grunted. "Oh, crap!" He suddenly hacked, his cough trailing off into a low groan.

"Two surgeries?" Dietra asked.

"I hope not. Depends how bad it looks when I get in there," Cassie replied honestly. She picked up the portable scanner and passed it over the injured area again. The scowl and shake of her head spoke volumes.

"Never thought I'd wish for a good old-fashioned bullet," Dayton murmured soberly. At least they would have known the general extent of the damage. These damn alien death rays were like nuclear radiation, often taking days to clearly delineate the damage.

Provided the victim lived that long!

"Give it to me to. . . to _bite_ . . . if you find one . . ." Ryan returned, coughing.

"Shh!" Dietra hushed him.

"I've been blethering my whole life . . . not gonna stop now . . ." Ryan replied breathlessly. "Yeah, Mother Ryan always used to say . . ."

"It's called conserving your strength," Dayton told him, not liking the increasing pallor. Cassie was inserted some kind of IV fluid into a pump in an effort to compensate for blood loss, while handing Dayton a life mask. He quickly slipped it on Ryan.

"For what, exactly?" Ryan returned, pulling at the mask. He glanced up at Starbuck. "Isn't this _your_ bag, Starbuck?"

"Shut the hell up, _Patrick_!" Dayton suddenly exploded, as much to his own surprise as everyone else's. "That's a God-damned order!"

"That's _exactly_ . . . what Mother Ryan used to say . . ." returned Paddy weakly, as a shiver shook his frame. "How'd ya . . . how'd ya know?"

Dayton sucked in a steadying breath, letting out a ragged one. "You always were an irritating SOB, you . . ."

"Is that American for . . . I love you?" returned Ryan, his eyes closing, and a satisfied smile creeping over his features.

"_Damn_, Ryan . . ." Starbuck murmured quietly, then looked at Cassie. "What do you need, Cass? What can I do to help?"

"I need more light. And a surface I can work on."

"There's a spot outside," Starbuck winced at the choice of King Cadoc's burial vault as the only flat surface available . . . other than the altars the princes occupied in the dimly lit Holy Sanctum. Somehow, he didn't think that would fly with the Odreds. "Let me make sure the area is secure, and I'll see what these guys brought in the way of illumination in their field packs."

"Thank you, Starbuck," she nodded after him as he quickly moved towards the main entrance.

Dayton's gaze followed him, hearing him call out to Apollo. Ryan's breathing was becoming more and more laboured, and he'd stopped blethering . . . Not good signs. Of course, there was the hope that the narcotic had simply settled him. Abruptly, Dayton had an idea! "Ama! Can't we just zip him home?"

"_Zip him home_, Mark-Dayton?" Ama repeated as she moved to join them. "What am I? Colonial Transit?"

The Earthman's eyes narrowed dangerously, as he looked between his injured best friend and the necromancer. "Listen, lady . . ."

"Hold your tongue before you say something you'll regret later, Commander," Ama reprimanded him. Even in her sharp tone, he could hear the strain. She was as worried as he was. "If you remember, I focussed on Starbuck's life force to bring us here. I'm a little new at crossing dimensions, and I'm not altogether sure at how I'm going to get us back there." She glanced at the Odred sorceress.

"What?" Dayton asked, abruptly tempted to wrap his hands around her throat. "You _never_ said we couldn't get back!"

"No, I never did," Ama agreed. "Because I believe we can." She glanced at Eirys. "And I believe the Hag will help. For a price."

"You will help us then?" Eirys asked, looking pointedly at Luana who was covering them from atop an outcrop of rock.

"Before I answer that, I need to hear this story that Starbuck was talking about."

"We don't have time for stories, for Christ's sake! Ryan needs help _now_! He's bleeding!" Dayton growled in frustration. Cassie nodded her agreement, glancing anxiously towards the entrance.

Ama held her hands out towards Eirys, "It won't take long. If you will permit me?"

The troll narrowed her eyes, taking a step back. "Baltar?"

Baltar looked surprised for a moment that Eirys was asking for his advice. Perhaps it was his apparent resemblance to General Caradoc in the Angylion form that leant to her trust of him. "Allow it." Then he sniffed aloud, recalling Ama probing his mind on the Prison Barge. "For if you don't, she will do it anyways."

"I see," Eirys conceded uncertainly, stepping boldly forward into the circle of the Empyrean necromancer's arms. A moment later, Ama had touched the troll's temples with her fingers, and tilted her forehead against Eirys' until they touched.

"Ryan?" Dayton whispered down at his friend.

Paddy's eyelids fluttered open, glancing at Dayton blurrily.

"The Canucks are in the playoffs . . ." Dayton told him.

Ryan smiled, squeezing Dayton's hand. "Great. Put me down for a loonie, each way."

"Take a cheque? I'm tapped, till payday."

"Liar."

A centon later, the women parted, Ama nodding. "Very well. I was told by someone that I believe you would refer to as a 'Mystic' that a very great injustice must be undone, in order for a terrible disaster to be averted."

"Who is this Mystic?" Caradoc interrupted. "Is it Llyr? Has he returned to help us?"

"I don't know of him by that name, but he seemed to think I could help you. He didn't mention you would come plucking my people out of our dimension and using them for blood sacrifices, however," Ama told Eirys, with a raised eyebrow. Dayton almost gave himself whiplash as he turned to regard her. "He also didn't mention Iblis, and I will certainly be speaking to him about that."

"I will not apologize for trying to save the Angylion race. I did nothing to irreparably harm either Starbuck or Baltar," Eirys defended herself.

"More's the pity with Baltar," Dayton muttered. "Ama, you had warning of this? And you didn't bother to let me know? Was it John? Did he come to you?"

She sighed. "Yes, it was John. But to your mind it would have been . . . _fiddle-faddle_, Mark-Dayton. Nebulous, at best. Nothing I could take to a man like you, and since it was destined, it seemed pointless." She glanced back to Eirys as he glowered at her. "You have the Doublewalkers of your princes, and your Oculus, Hag. I imagine there is also a spell to reverse this curse?"

"Yes. We have all the elements. But we need to wait until the time is just right," Eirys replied with a glance at Baltar and Caradoc. Then she looked at Ama uncertainly.

"Who will perform the ritual?" Baltar asked.

"I'm not sure I have the power to break Iblis' spell, although I certainly would have risked it. But the _Telling_ said that the White Witch _could_ . . ." Eirys trailed off hopefully.

"Very well," Ama conceded. "Do you have this spell? I must study it."

"Yes, of course."

A low groan from Ryan, and Ama frowned in his direction. "Can we send Ryan back through the power of your Oculus, Hag?"

"He may not survive, considering his life force is already dwindling," Eirys replied. "Perhaps if you went with him to protect him from the forces exerted on his body . . . but I cannot allow that, Witch. I need you here. And every time we pass through the Nonentity, we risk the chance of drawing the Mystics' attention. If Iblis was to intervene now, I would lose the chance to free my people from his enchantment."

"That's one hell of a big 'if'!" Dayton returned. "This man could die!"

"One life for tens of thousands . . ." Eirys shrugged. "I know it sounds harsh . . ."

"A people at war for a thousand yahrens can understand better than most," Baltar inserted quietly. "Besides, we have able medical personnel right here."

Dayton glowered at him. Ryan had consistently advocated for Baltar's demise while on Planet 'P'. The traitor hadn't forgotten. Still, in reality, all that taking Ryan to the _Endeavour_ would get them would be a clean operating room. Either way, it would be up to Cassiopeia to save him. His best friend's life was in the hands of his lady, and Dayton couldn't help but dwell on the fact that she wasn't quite a qualified physician, despite her knowledge and training. Add to that his suspicions those same thoughts of doubt and nervousness had to be going through _her_ head. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together, trying to quell his anger, helplessness, and hopelessness. Frankly, if he could grind Baltar's face into the rock, it might go a long way towards making him feel better . . . Instead, he finally replied, "Yeah, he's in the best of hands."

Cassie met his gaze, nodding thankfully that she had his vote of confidence. Then anxiously, she glanced towards the cave entrance. "Where's Starbuck?"

On cue, the strike captain jogged in through the front entrance, followed by Lia. "No sign of any more Cylons. Are you ready, Cass?"

"More than ready."

"Okay. Let's move."


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Dorado shifted from his seat in the War Room, where Malus had been regaling him with a data bank worth of recovered information that he had been ordered by his former Cylon commander to wipe from his memory long ago, or so he now realized.

"You guys actually wiped out an entire civilization of peaceable Beings?" Dorado asked quietly, glancing at Baker and Coxcoxtli. "But why? What had these people ever done to you?"

"The Edict of Extermination, Captain," Malus replied. "It was the foremost and highest of the Imperious Leader's standing orders."

"I thought that just applied to Humans," Dorado inserted.

"These Beings were . . . _different_ than any we had ever contacted before." Malus cocked his head slightly to the side. "Commander Yugra decided they had to be eradicated."

"Different. How so?"

"They defied everything we believed. Their very existence was a contradiction of the whole Cylon paradigm."

"Come again?" Dorado asked.

"Dispassionate science and technology, and those alone, were the Cylon dictum towards achieving eternal perfection and order throughout the star system," Malus replied. "The Espridians were technologically evolved Beings, incredibly so, but their development and practice of the . . . what you would call the 'metaphysical arts' set them apart from any other race we had come across."

"But Humans have practised these . . . _metaphysical arts, _as you call them, for ages. In the Colonies. On Empyrean. Even on Earth. What made these people so different in that regard?"

"These arts were not just an adjunct to their technology and way of life. They _dominated_ their whole life and culture. Saturated it utterly."

"I see. And this made them dangerous?"

"Any opposition or challenge to the Cylon way of life is perceived as a threat that must be eradicated."

Dorado glanced at Baker. "I vaguely remember Dayton talking about the day Torg and Bex snagged the Wraiths, and that their pilots all died when they were exposed to the atmosphere of the hangar bay, but he said you guys never got a look at them."

"That's right," Baker nodded. "They were jettisoned from the hangar bay of the pirate asteroid. Or so they said. We never knew for certain."

"Luana reported the atmosphere of the . . ._ Espridian_ planet was considerably lighter than Caprican standard," Dorado recounted. "Lower pressure."

"Then the density in the air . . . suffocated them?" Baker suggested.

"Probably . . . without a post-mortem, there's no way of knowing for sure," Dorado replied. He looked back at the IL. "I'm still a bit fuzzy on these metaphysical arts, Malus. Can you elaborate?"

"Certainly. As I was told by the Espridians, these people studied, lived and breathed psionics, both physical and mental."

"Psionics?" the men asked together.

"Psychic power," Malus replied. "That is also how Ama defined it to me. Our Cylon language defines it as 'non-causative spatial transport and communication'. Yes, practicing telepathy, telekinesis, and teleportation were normal occurrences in their daily lives. It was fascinating. A global consciousness attained through . . . spiritual enlightenment, touting peace and understanding, with no need for defences or offences." The IL was silent a few moments. "I still find 'spiritual' a difficult concept to process, I must admit, but I realize now that I was well on my way to breaking through the limitations of my original programming, through my interactions with the Espridians. I'm sure that's why I immediately gravitated to Starbuck, and the rest of your people, when I met them on Planet 'P'. It stimulated old data, long suppressed, that long ago was enabling me to personally grow and develop beyond all Cylon expectations!"

"Spiritualism can mean a realm, or a level of existence, that is beyond the physical senses," said Dorado.

"Such as the continued existence of the mind, even beyond death?"

"Yes," said Coxcoxtli.

"And thus beyond the _usual_ Cylon ability to grasp or to accept."

"This Espridian global consciousness . . . it puts me in mind of Nirvana," Baker muttered. "In Earth Buddism, Nirvana is the supreme mental state, free from suffering and individual existence. It's a state Buddhists refer to as 'Enlightenment', the ultimate goal of all Buddhists."

"Fascinating," Malus' lights accelerated. "I would like to know more about them when time permits."

"So, you spoke to these Espridians?" Dorado asked. "You communicated with them, Malus?"

"Oh yes, through a form of artistic handscript, common to their kind, and also to other cultures. It took me almost a full secton to figure theirs out, but I prevailed, and finally became quite adept at it. I was an explorer and researcher, you understand. And although all Cylons are considered to be soldiers of the Alliance, I must admit, my heart was never in it."

"Mal . . ." Baker sighed. "You don't have a heart."

"Well, technically speaking . . . that _is _true. But since joining the Fleet, I have learned that the heart and soul, as you describe them, are not necessarily characteristic of only Humans."

"Cylons don't have souls either, Mal," Dorado added.

"I like to think my own . . . spiritual development has far surpassed any Cylon's, Captain Dorado," the IL replied, a little indignantly.

"Did Starbuck tell you that?" Dorado asked.

"Starbuck tends to nod off when we discuss spirituality," Malus replied.

Dorado blinked, and glanced at Baker who rolled his eyes. "And he's the one overseeing your transition into Fleet life. I _see_."

"So these guys actually . . . moved around just by thinking about it?" Baker asked, moving the discussion back on track. "Then why did they need ships?"

"Because their teleportation range was apparently limited. You see, the Espridians were also explorers!" Malus enthused. "However, they preferred to merely observe and record other worlds, star systems and even other universes. They went out of their way to not be observed."

"Which is why the Wraith has such a highly advanced countermeasures suite, in order to avoid detection."

"So they were never detected?"

"I understand that most civilizations, other than Cylon, favour the appearance of celestial Beings in one form or another," Malus replied. "The occasional time the Espridians were observed could be rationalized away by the visit of those celestial Beings."

"Angels."

"Yes. Perpetuating the organic life form's propensity for clinging to the belief of the celestial spheres."

"What did they look like, Mal? These Espridians."

"Similar to Humans in shape and size, as you have probably figured out, since the Wraith is compatible with Human use. However, they breathed a lighter air, and required less in the way of consumables. Their biophysical composition was also different. They were not constituted of consistently solid matter, as you and I are. Our scientists were unable to fully understand how this was possible, but it was so. They unquestionably had an etheric body."

"Sorry?" Dorado frowned. "Eth . . .what?"

"Beam me up, Scotty," Baker smiled. Malus turned to him. "Never mind. Must make it easier to move around the planet by teleportation, I'll bet."

"Yes, quite," Malus agreed enthusiastically. "And to other dimensions, as well."

"Wait a centon . . ." Dorado interjected. "When you said they explored other universes, that's what you meant? Other dimensions?"

"Oh, yes. Or quantum realities, or whatever term you choose. They believed there were other universes that simply operated on a different etheric plain. It was absolutely . . ."

"Fascinating?" Baker inserted, trying not to smile.

"Yes!" Malus cried. "But to Commander Yugra, that, along with their Wraith technology, was the deciding factor in the annihilation of the Espridian race. Instead of considering utilizing the technology, Commander Yugra chose to destroy it, preventing it from ever being used against us. Never mind that the Espridians were a peaceable nation. I believe he might have blown a circuit, trying to comprehend something beyond the Cylon status quo. Such are the limitations of the centurion command class. However, for a researcher and explorer, such as myself, the progress they had made in crossing dimensions was akin to making the first discoveries that ultimately led us to the development of the Gravitic Drive system. It was very exciting."

"And the _Endeavour _took part in this attack?" asked Coxcoxtli.

"The _Harrower_," Malus corrected him, preferring to differentiate between the two existences of the same ship. "Along with the others, yes. Their cities were blasted from orbit with our mega-pulsars, before being bombarded with nuclear fusion warheads."

"Nothing like overkill," muttered Baker.

"Their skills and technology posed a potential threat to the Cylon Order. Commander Yugra wished to be certain that even if some Espridians survived, they would never be in a position to challenge the Alliance, when at last we reached this region of space in force."

"Makes a certain sense, I suppose, at least from a military point of view. Then what happened?"

"The other two Base Ships continued on, deeper into this sector, while this vessel continued on to what you called Planet 'P'. There I was landed with my garrison, and told to await pickup. Of course, it never came. I now believe it was a punitive measure."

"You stepped in, didn't you, Mal?" Dorado realized, actually surprised. "You tried to intervene on their behalf?"

"I did," the IL admitted. "I argued that their mysterious technology and skills might actually be of use to the Alliance, but I would have said anything to be able to continue my research into Espridian Psionics. Accusing me of putting my ambitions ahead of that of the Alliance, Yugra would not listen to me. As the destruction of the Espridian civilization was carried out, I was ordered to wipe my memory banks of all information related to them, _purportedly_ because I didn't have proper clearance. Either that or I would be scrapped. You see, ever since I was a fledgling, my superiors had accused me of being a loose diode." He waited a beat.

"It's not that funny, Mal," Baker told him. "Loose wire. Loose diode. Really needs work."

Malus 'sighed'. "Regardless, I implemented a secondary clone program, so that when I eventually did a diagnostic, my memory of the events would be regenerated."

"Unfortunately," Baker inserted, "you didn't run that diagnostic until now."

"Am I missing something here, Malus?" Dorado asked. "How can a long-dead race of people who could teleport to other dimensions help us here and now?"

"Because the Espridians didn't cross dimensional barriers using _psionics_, Captain. They had technology as well, a _device_ that could open a portal to another dimension," Malus replied. "I was, to my knowledge, the only Cylon aware of the existence of the Clavis, and I, alone, know where we can find it."

"Clavis? What makes you think it wasn't blown to smithereens, along with the rest of the planet?" Baker asked.

"As Starbuck says, that's a chance we'll have to take."

----------

Immersing oneself in duty was a pragmatic solution to putting any of life's problems on the backburner, Sheba had found, as she printed out the duty roster and filed another "to do" as "done". A Battlestar was a community unto itself, and leaving the Fleet—or in the past, the Colonies—suddenly made everything else fade into the distance, priorities being reshuffled with each passing parsec behind her. Still, the bright-eyed image of Boxey as she left the boy behind in the _Galactica_'s Alpha Bay was difficult to let go of. The youngster had been determined to see her off, and she had acquiesced, knowing how hard it was on him to have Apollo assigned away. When she had suggested having a crewman escort him back to his level, Boxey had insistently replied, "I'm big enough to do it on my own!" The righteous indignation was so reminiscent of his father, that Sheba had conceded, trying to control her own delight and amusement.

Boxey was growing up.

A soft knock on the door of the duty office made her look up. Bojay was smiling at her in a strange way, leaning his lanky frame against the doorjamb.

"What?" she asked.

"You looked far away," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just clearing my desk," she shrugged, waving a hand to illustrate the point. A data pad, a couple reference materials, and a holoptic of her parents were all that covered the surface, and even those were neatly organized.

"How do you do it?" Bojay grinned. "I heard Starbuck's desk looked like a Cylon pinwheel attack hit it. His whole office, actually."

"Honestly, I think better with a clean desk. It's like I can't even begin to get started unless the surface is clear." She smiled. The mess she had swept into the bottom drawer would be her little secret.

"Well, you know what they say."

"No."

"A clean desk is a sign of a sick mind."

"And just who are _they_?" She asked, raising her eyebrows. "And, while we're at it, how much have they had to drink?"

"It might have been a topic of discussion in the OC, now that you mention it," Bojay conceded with a chuckle, then glanced over his shoulder for a micron. "So . . . I was wondering . . ." he began, stroking his chin as he looked around the office. "I don't suppose we should send our only functioning shuttle back to the Fleet at this point, especially without a Viper escort . . .which would probably be a waste of fighters, especially considering we're not at full strength yet . . . "

She sat up straight, shaking her head in bewilderment. Sending shuttles or Vipers back to the Fleet made absolutely no sense. "Bojay, what are you talking about?"

Bojay sighed, looking back over his shoulder to the outer corridor. "Bring him in, Roz!"

----------

This was a total mong hole to be practising medicine in. Dirty, cold, wet, rotten light, and no doubt more bacteria than a sewage treatment plant, but Cassiopeia had made it clear that Ryan didn't have a lot of options, just now. While the med tech had been grazed by the Cylon's shot, and not hurt badly, Ryan had caught the bulk of the remaining energy. The internal bleeding had been bad, and it was no picnic trying to turn a slab of rock on the side of a volcano into an operating room.

The Odreds, perhaps understandably, were curious about Cassie's "magic", as she began her work. Her answers to their questions were clipped, betraying the stress she was under, and she didn't even turn to regard them. General Caradoc at last had to ask them to stand back, and give her some space.

Dayton himself had looked torn between watching Ryan's surgery, and tossing his mushies all over the burial vault, as Cassie continued to work, cutting through savaged tissue with a laser scalpel. Lia and Dietra stood by, willing and able to help in any way, and monitoring the biomonitor, as instructed by the med tech. As Dayton's strike captain and friend, Starbuck realized it was _his_ responsibility and duty to get the Earthman refocused, rather than leave him dwelling on a situation he could do nothing about. Besides, Cassiopeia looked as though she could use some breathing space. She'd been at it for a while now.

"We need to regroup, Commander," Starbuck told him, grabbing Dayton by the arm and leading him towards the trailhead where Apollo waited. "Soon, Apollo and I are going to be donating our blood in the name of resurrecting Angylions. We need a plan to deal with that Base Ship."

Within the Holy Sanctum, Ama and Eirys were preparing the chamber for a sacred rite that, if the Angylion prophecy was correct, would eradicate a curse that had transformed an entire race of Beings into trolls.

Dayton nodded, glancing over his shoulder one last time, before taking a deep breath, and concentrating on the situation at hand. "I guess that's going to depend on whether or not this . . . _ceremony_ works. As if things weren't iffy enough, already."

Starbuck nodded, suddenly waving Baltar and Caradoc over. "Yeah, admittedly as Odreds these people have been effectively neutralized. However, Caradoc told Baltar that . . ."

"_Starbuck_ . . . what the frack are you doing?" Apollo interrupted, as the traitor of humanity started crossing the plateau to join them.

"Look, buddy, I know it's not exactly normal procedure to have Baltar join a command briefing, but these Odreds_ trust _Baltar. General Caradoc is his Doublewalker. The Odred has revealed a lot of pertinent military information to him, just based on the fact that Baltar said he'd help them. They look at Baltar and see their former Angylion glory personified."

"Oh, that's just _great_!" Dayton groused. "Benedict Arnold to the rescue!"

"And by extension, when they look at you or me, Apollo, they see their princes. Their sovereigns. Besides, the last time we successfully infiltrated a Cylon Base Ship, it _was_ because of intelligence that Baltar gave us. He _might_ be useful again. Like it or not, we're better off working together right now, than putting him in chains, and having an entire nation of Odreds turn against us," Starbuck explained.

Apollo let out an audible sigh, weighing the words. "I left my chains in my other jacket, anyhow . . ."

"Hey, I haven't forgotten what he did. But we have a pretty thin hand right now. We have to work with what we've got, like it or not."

"Well, I don't like it," Dayton frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then file it with Colonial Complaints, Commander," Starbuck replied heatedly. "We're stuck with it. There's no way in Hades hole that we can destroy a Cylon Base Ship on our own. We need these people."

"And what happens if Baltar should decide to switch sides, again? We'd be totally screwed," Dayton returned.

"For the moment, we have no choice," said Apollo, having no more liking or trust for Baltar than any Colonial.

"What happens to Baltar afterwards?" Dayton threw back at them.

"Let me consult my crystalline ball," Starbuck returned wryly.

Dayton sniffed aloud, his intent features cracking into a grin as he heard footsteps approaching from behind. "Smart ass."

Together, the three men turned to face Baltar and Caradoc.

"Gentlemen," Baltar smiled at them. "The time is nigh that the Angylion race will be freed."

_Oh great! Baltar the Prophet!_

"And _then_ what, Baltar? I take it you have a plan?" Apollo replied, his eyes narrowing, the scepticism in his voice plain.

"I do. Over the deca-yahren, the Cylons have doubtlessly grown complacent, and now treat the Odreds more as animals. As mindless beasts of burden, rather than as any real threat or opposition."

"Yes, this is true," Caradoc added. "While once we forged metal to rebuild their monstrosity under diligent surveillance, they have since removed many of their centurions from the mines and city to their ship to carry out repairs. We have had the opportunity to forge many weapons, in preparation for our final conflict."

"Swords?" Dayton asked.

"Yes, as well as others. Maces, axes, dirks, polearms . . ."

"But those weapons are useless against Cylon pulse rifles." Apollo pointed out. "They'll shred you."

"They are not useless in the hands of Angylions. Before, when the Cylons first appeared from Mt. Cadoc, they held the element of surprise," Caradoc conceded. "Their weapons decimated our legions, for we had not seen their like before. Even so, we might have been able to regroup and overcome them, if we had changed our strategy. You cannot meet weapons like that, head on. But before we could react, Iblis then transformed us into Odreds, too small and weak to lift the very weapons that could cleave the Cylons in two."

"Cleave them in two?" Starbuck asked. He let out a short breath. "It would take _a lot_ of strength to drive a sword through a Cylon."

"We also have many Cylon weapons,' added the general. "When first we did battle with them, some were cut down by stones, logs, or massed attack. Along the trails here, you will find the ruined bodies of many. We took their swords, and kept them. They do not rust, and none have ever broken."

"Did you get any of their more advanced weapons?" asked Dayton.

"Some, but time and the wet climate have done their work. I do not know if any of them might yet work. But the swords . . . yes."

"Still going to need a mong-load of brute strength, to take a centurion down this way," said Starbuck.

"Strength comes from pureness of heart, Starbuck," Caradoc replied.

"I kept telling that to the commander, but Dayton made me report to the Fitness Centre every day anyway," Starbuck quipped.

"Are you people truly that strong? In your natural state?" Dayton asked, wondering what these weapons looked like. A sword that could cut a centurion in two had to be massive, like the longswords of Earth. The strength behind it had to be significant, and looking at the princes, who weren't exactly young Arnold Schwarzeneggers, it simply didn't make sense.

"Angylions are," Caradoc replied. "We are one with our blades, and our strength, purpose and conviction are channelled, combining those energies and empowering our warriors."

Starbuck glanced at Apollo, "Did you get _any_ of that?"

Apollo raised his eyebrows at his friend, looking back at the troll. "I'm not sure we understand."

"Sounds a lot like _bushido_," Dayton added,. "An ancient warrior philosophy, on Earth. Are you saying that your blades have some kind of special powers?"

"When wielded by Angylions," Caradoc replied.

"Sounds like King Arthur's Excalibur . . ." Dayton murmured quietly to himself, once again feeling more like he was in some strange fantasy, and expecting a group of unicorns or fairies to show up any second. Had a lamppost suddenly appeared to grow out of the ground, he wouldn't have been surprised. A quick glance back towards Ryan, however, quickly grounded him. Cassie looked to be closing him up.

Caradoc shrugged. "You will see soon enough. Tell them your plan, Baltar."

"_Our_ plan, General," Baltar nodded. "It is simple. As the Odreds change shifts, both in the mine and at the nearby Base Ship," he glanced in the distance at the sun beginning to drop in the sky, "it is a tradition for families to gather not far from the sites, awaiting their loved ones in greeting. Similarly, fresh workers going on shift are seen off by their kin."

"Initially, many Odreds were killed during their long shifts," Caradoc inserted. "They simply did not return home, and their bodies were found discarded like refuse. Cylons are unaffected by the spread of pestilence from rotting flesh, and it wouldn't occur to them to free the souls of the dead by burning them. From that point on, families began to anxiously wait in the hills, wanting to know outright if their kin were coming home."

"A tradition born of necessity," Baltar added.

"Wait a centon," Apollo interrupted, "Do your people know that Eirys is trying to . . . raise your princes, Caradoc? That they might be transformed . . .?"

"Yes. Baltar already had me send word to my people to be armed and ready," Caradoc replied.

Baltar smiled, shrugging, "I didn't know you were coming, after all. The weapons will be ready in the hills, and when the Odreds are transformed, what is left of the Angylion nation will attack the Base Ship and any Cylons at the mine, and in the city."

"How many Angylions?" Dayton asked.

"One thousand Angylions is all that is left," Caradoc replied. "At most. Countless thousands were killed in the initial conflict, a thousand more since. At least."

"A comparatively small society," Dayton opined.

"A hundred years ago, our planet was beset by natural disasters that levelled our cities, sunk our navies, and devastated our population," Caradoc explained. "Famine and pestilence finished what the rest had left undone. It was as though the land of Morlais was screaming out her fury, before she set to grieving."

"What was the cause?" Apollo asked.

Caradoc shook his head. "We don't know. It has never occurred again since. I pray to Llyr it never does again. But our population was slow to recover. Among us, children were few, and our kind increased but slowly. And then Iblis came . . ."

"Shh!" Starbuck raised a finger to his lips, looking upward, cocking his head slightly to the side as he listened.

Apollo furrowed his brow . . . as a Cylon Raider raced over the top of Mt. Cadoc for its first pass.

_"__Into the cave!__"_shouted Baltar, his voice like that of a commander. _ "__Now! Move!__"_


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Starbuck sprinted forward, heading for Cassiopeia and Ryan at the burial vault outside the mouth of the cave. He knew the centurions in the Raider overhead would be checking their scanners, determining what life signs were below, as they began to turn. Ten to one, on the next pass their weapons would be activated.

And locked on target.

"Cass . . ." he barked, but it wasn't necessary. The advanced med tech—turned surgeon due to necessity—was already dosing Ryan with something that made the Earthman's eyes fly open, as a low groan was torn from his lips. "What the frack did you . . .?"

"Because while he's anaesthetized, he won't breathe on his own," Cassie returned briskly, throwing equipment into her med kit, save the life mask on his face, but moving slowly because of her own injury. Apollo leapt in to help her. "I had to reverse the anaesthesia!"

"They're coming about!" Luana yelled from the mouth of the cave, her voice almost drowned by the fighter's engines, as she headed towards them at a run.

"Get out of the way,_ Doughnut Dunk_," Dayton inserted, as Starbuck tried to position himself to pick up Ryan. "I've got him."

"Together! It'll be easier on him with a gut wound," Starbuck inserted.

"We'll draw their fire!" Dietra yelled, swiftly moving to the left, with Luana and Lia on her heels. All three women pulled their weapons, taking aim at the Raider, and firing to get their attention. They continued to move laterally, away from the others.

"You might as well throw rocks!" Dayton hollered, even as Starbuck nodded, and together they hefted a partially undressed Ryan between them in a "seat carry", a surgical drape maintaining his dignity. "Taking down a fighter with a handgun? The odds are . . well . . ."

"They know that. They're just giving us time," Starbuck returned.

"Then move, _Biscotti Butt_!"

"Hurry!" Apollo yelled, grabbing Cassiopeia's med kit and putting a supportive arm around her, guiding her towards the cave. Then he waved at the trolls who were watching the Cylon craft wheel about. "Get inside!"

"Is it just me, or does anybody else realize that if the Raiders start firing their lasers at the cave, they'll blow it to Hades Hole!" Baltar hollered at them. "I didn't cross dimensions to get buried alive!"

"Did you cross them to get _incinerated_?" Apollo countered. "Or do you have a spare air raid shelter in your back pocket?"

"Someone could draw their fire," Baltar retorted, glancing at the three women attempting just that. "Lead them away! If we don't complete the ceremony, we'll have an angel's chance in Hades Hole of stopping that Base Ship!"

"Be my guest," Dayton snarled, hearing the Raider's lasers starting to rip apart the ground. "Down!" he yelled, more for the benefit of the women who were still firing at the fighter. On his word, they broke from position, throwing themselves out of the line of fire as the Raider screamed by overhead. Lu rolled over, and kept firing at the Raider until it was obscured by the mountain top.

"_Sagan_, Lu . . ." Starbuck cursed, his guts twisting at the risk she had just taken. He sucked in a breath as she climbed nimbly to her feet, looking over and giving him a grin. Lia and Dietra were also unharmed.

"I hit it, Starbuck!" Lu announced proudly. "I'm sure I did."

"Let's hope so," he replied, realizing what a million to one shot would be needed to seriously harm a Raider with a hand weapon at that distance. "Let's hope so." He looked around. "Baltar . . ."

"General! With me!" Baltar snapped, pivoting abruptly and lurching in the opposite direction. "Bring your troops!"

"Baltar!" Apollo barked, turning around, Cassie still in his grip.  
"Form up!" Caradoc growled, as his soldiers fell in behind them, and the small force sprinted after Baltar towards a secondary trail.

"Frack!" Starbuck cursed, slowing their pace. He didn't miss the fact that Baltar wasn't doing anything in the way of trying to get the Cylons' attention. He was just making a break for it. If Starbuck wasn't already carrying an injured man, he'd tackle the traitor himself. "We can't let him take off . . . "

"I'll go after them . . ." Apollo began.

"You can't! We need you for the ceremony!" Starbuck replied, watching Baltar and the Odreds disappear over the edge of the mountainside.

"_Shizen_ . . ." Dayton growled.

"We'll go!" Luana called out, racing off in pursuit.

"I'm with you!" Lia hollered.

"Lord sakes, Dee," Starbuck mouthed at his wingmate, knowing the last thing she'd want to do was leave Ryan. But he'd drop the Earthman and abandon the Angylion ceremony rather than concede two young and naïve Empyrean women being assigned as Baltar's keepers in the middle of a revolution.

As if reading his mind, Cassie called out, "Ryan will be fine! I expect a full recovery!"

After glancing at the med tech, Dietra's dark eyes met Starbuck's for an instant, and she nodded. "I've got Lu! You take care of Paddy for me, Starbuck." Then she raced after the others as the Raider's engines echoed across the stones, again.

----------

"This is just _so _cool! It's like we're going to find the Stargate!" Porter enthused, from the rear of the modified Cylon shuttle. Once used to transport ground troops to decimate whatever civilization the Cylons were invading, like the Hybrid fighters, it had been rebuilt utilizing a mixture of both Cylon and Colonial technology. "Buried deep in Cheyenne Mountain, under the tightest of military security . . ."

"Stargate?" Jolly asked from the pilot's seat.

"An old TV show," Baker explained, co-piloting. He had known if he was going to be working on the aeronautics and design for the Hybrid fighter, that he should get his Colonial "wings", making it official that he could actually pilot what he worked on. Dayton had been choked that he had found the time to clock his hours, while the commander had more pressing matters that had stood in his own way. However, Mark would make it eventually, come hell or high water.

"_Tee vee_?" asked Jolly, brows furrowed.

"Oh, right. A colloquialism for a form of broadcast entertainment. Sort of like your IFB."

"You mean there's something in the universe as bad as_ IFB_?" asked Jolly.

"You should see the Sci-Fi Channel," drawled Baker. "They used to replay all these old seventies series. Space 1999, Battlest . . ."

"So . . .?"

"Right. Stargate. An alien device discovered on Earth that teleported people to like portals in other galaxies."

"Your people were already thinking about co-existing galaxies? And they'd only made it as far as your moon?" Coxcoxtli inserted.

"On a _manned_ mission, Coxman," Baker inserted. He'd given up trying to master the kid's name. It gave his tongue a charley horse. "We'd sent probes to the outer limits of our own star system."

"But they still couldn't make the food taste like home," Porter added wryly.

"You're a slave to your stomach, Porter," Baker retorted.

"And a pitiless master it is, old friend."

"Finally, an Earthman I can relate to," Jolly grinned, checking the instruments against the telemetry Luana had recorded. "All right. We should be picking it up just about . . . now."

"Whoa, Nelly!" Baker nodded, as the scanner bleeped. He leaned over, studying the data on the screen. "Yeah, I can see why it caught her attention. A definite deviation from same old, same old. I'm reading some kind of unidentified electropositive chemical compound buried deep in that mountainside." He glanced out at the beautiful valley below them, then back to the console. "The computer doesn't have anything like it in its database." He punched some keys. "Linking up with the _Endeavour_'s mainframe. Trying to get some dope on this." He waited, then shook his head.

"Analysis?" Coxcoxtli asked.

"That will do you no good," Malus interrupted from the rear of the shuttle. "I recall the Clavis being made of some utterly indeterminable element, that was only located at the Espridian geographical poles. We couldn't identify it, and had never seen its like."

"He's right," Baker replied. "The scanners aren't happy. The big ole data bank has zilch on it, as well."

"How do we get in, Malus?" Jolly asked, checking the terrain. "I don't exactly see any directions or welcome signs."

"There's a small lake just south of the mountain. You should be able to land nearby," the IL informed the lieutenant. "I'll direct you from there."

"Gotcha," said Jolly. "The lake is on the scanners. Everyone belt in."

----------

"I'll take care of it, Adama," Sheba signed off on the personal matter, as she finished informing the _Galactica_'s commander of his grandson's whereabouts before the _Pegasus_ was out of communication range of the Fleet. The sad thing was, so caught up in his own duties, Adama hadn't known the boy was missing. After all, in the relatively safe environment of a Battlestar, and involved in a cooperative program, there were any number of places the child could have been. Sheba leaned forward across her desk, where Boxey stood on the other side with his trusty companion, Muffit. "Boxey, _why_?" she asked. "_Why _would you stow away in the cargo hold of a_ Pegasus _shuttle? The very shuttle you knew I was leaving the _Galactica_ on!"

"Muffit wanted to see the _Pegasus_," Boxey replied quietly, his eyes searching hers, obviously trying to read exactly how angry she was.

"Oh, _Boxey_ . . ." she murmured, remembering the story Apollo had once told her about how Boxey had ended up on the mission to Arcta through similar circumstances.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, blinking his eyes furiously, and dropping his chin to his chest. "It's just that . . . I really miss my Dad." His hand slipped up to wipe at his face, but Sheba could see little beneath his hair.

She stood up, coming around the desk, and kneeling down in front of him. Tipping up his chin, she was almost surprised to see dry eyes, and frowned slightly, wondering how much of this was Boxey truly missing his father, and how much was him using it as an excuse to act out. A flare of annoyance swept over her, but just as quickly she quashed it, trying to draw on her own life experiences, and recalling that her own mother's anger as she rebelled at her father's absence had only made her feel worse. More alone.

_Some things never change._

"Boxey, I know you miss your father, but I think you're old enough to understand that you don't stow away on shuttles. Aren't you?"

He nodded briefly, not meeting her gaze as his lip popped out petulantly.

"You know, when my father used to go away, I ended up getting into all kinds of trouble, as well," Sheba admitted. Part of her felt like she was talking to herself, aged seven.

He looked up at her then, cocking his head to the side, but not replying. At least she had his attention.

"I think I was so upset and angry that he had left me, that I just . . . _felt_ like doing crazy things . . . things I _knew_ I would get in trouble for."

He seemed to think about it, his hand curling tightly in the daggit's fur.

"Even as adults, when we're upset we do things that we know are wrong." How long had she held a grudge against Cassiopeia, for offering her father such blessed things as love and companionship, after her mother was gone? "It takes courage to admit we're wrong . . . especially when we're still hurting."

"Can I go now?" he asked, glancing at the door that was slightly ajar, promising escape.

She blinked, not exactly expecting that response. "Where _exactly_ do you think you're going to go?"

He smiled. "To the Bridge."

Everything she had said seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Apparently she wasn't getting through. "Boxey, this is a _secure_ military vessel. We don't have family quarters, and the Bridge is a restricted area."

"Then . . . where _can_ I go? The Rejuvenation Centre?"

Despite what he had done wrong, he still thought he should be playing games in the Rejuvenation Centre. Maybe she'd been _too_ understanding, _too_ sympathetic. "For a start, to my quarters, which it looks like you'll be sharing with me."

"But I wanted to bunk with Silver Spar Squadron!" he protested sullenly. "I know there's room!"

"No," she replied quietly. Calmly. Not at all how she felt, having become the sole guardian of Apollo's son. How could she be the strike captain, and look after Boxey too? "The billet isn't fully rebuilt, yet."

"You can't keep me confined to quarters!"

"Wanna bet?" It was out of her mouth before she could say, "like father, like daughter". His eyes opened widely. She took a deep breath, realizing she didn't respond well to defiance. Apollo had mentioned that a time or two. "It isn't my intention to confine you to quarters . . . but since you're _here_, I'm going to have to figure out what exactly I'm going to do with you. The _Pegasus_ is very different from the _Galactica_, Boxey. We've _had _to be. We've been combat ready since leaving the Colonies for Molecay with the Fifth Fleet. We've never had proper facilities for families aboard. This is going to be a real adjustment for you, Boxey, _and_ for me! Lord Suffering Sagan, if I was fully manned, I'd stuff you in a jump seat and send you back in the fastest Viper we have. This is no place for a child!"

His bottom lip trembled, and this time tears welled up in his eyes. "You d-don't want me . . . either . . ." the last words were barely decipherable. He dashed for the door, and was through it before Sheba could say, "Oh,_ frack_!"

"_Boxey!__"_ she shouted. _"__Come back here!__"_

_----------_

"I want my pants back . . ." Ryan groaned, between Starbuck and Dayton as they carried him into the Holy Sanctum, within the cave, following Apollo and Cassie. "Is anyone actually listening to me? I want my pants!"

"We have a Cylon Raider turning about to start another strafing run, and he may send for reinforcements, Baltar making a break for it, and you're worried about your modesty!" Dayton snapped in disbelief, even as the surgical drape that was partially covering his friend from the waist down began to pool around Ryan's lap. "You're alive, Paddy! You hear me? You're still breathing, you godless Canuck! That's what matters!"

"I don't want the rest of you guys . . . getting an inferiority complex . . ." Ryan grunted between clenched teeth. "After all, Mother Ryan taught us humility!"

"You never let up," Starbuck shook his head, looking from Ryan to Dayton. "He's worse than me."

Cassie snorted, but said nothing. Apollo sniffed knowingly.

"I'd say it's a close race," Dayton returned, waiting for Apollo and Cassie to stretch out a blanket on the ground. "As to who's the most annoying of the two of you, it's a toss up. Too close to call."

"Where's Dietra?" Ryan breathed, as they started to settle him back on the blanket. Cassie quickly gave him another dose of painkiller from the hypo. "She'll get my pants. If I ask nicely, that is."

"As I was starting to tell you, she went after Baltar with Luana and Lia," Dayton replied, glancing at the Odred sorceress and Empyrean necromancer. Torches were now lit all around the cave, and from what he could tell, they were ready for this occult ceremony to raise the dead.

"Did he really . . . take off, eh?" Ryan asked, a faint smile on his lips.

"Yeah, Doug McKenzie, he really did . . . ya Hoser," Dayton returned.

"Beauty," rasped Ryan. A loud whine of weapons fire from outside followed.

Abruptly, the cave shook, debris falling from above. Dayton grabbed Cassie, pushing her to the ground, and threw himself over both her and Ryan. Starbuck grabbed the med kit, pulling it over his and Dayton's heads for protection as he joined the "daggit pile".

"Cylon salvos!" Apollo yelled, voicing what was in everybody's mind as he leapt for cover. The Raider was hitting them with everything it had, despite Baltar's supposed diversion.

"Just tell me my pants aren't still outside," a voice called from the bottom of the pile.

"They aren't," replied Dayton.

"Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . ."

"More likely incinerated," Starbuck retorted.

"_Ohhh_!"

----------

Luana poured on the speed, keeping Baltar in sight as she scrambled down the steep trail on the mountain. The traitor was in mediocre physical condition, at best, and she knew it would take no time at all to catch up with him and his party of Odreds. All the same, at any moment the Cylon Raider would come tearing through the air above her on a strafing run, breaking over the edge of the cliff like an ominous tidal wave bent on their destruction.

Suddenly, the sound of lasers ripping up the ground above them made her stop. The Raider was firing on the cave, obviously not noticing a small party of Humans fleeing down the path that was probably meant for mountain caprines. The diversion had failed. All too quickly, an image of Starbuck being crushed under falling stone and debris surged through her imagination.

"Frack!" she cursed, aiming her weapon at the sky, and firing back towards the cave. She had to get their attention, and draw their fire. "Over here, Metal Heads!" she screamed, shooting successive rounds off into the air. "_C'mon_ . . ."

"By Llyr," Caradoc cried, as he stopped, then turned to witness the fearless display. "Such courage! She must have Angylion blood!"

"There's one chance in a million that she'll do any damage," Baltar muttered beside him, his own weapon held ready.

"Run!" Lia yelled at Luana, only metrons behind her. Dietra was right on her heels.

"I just need to see . . ." Lu began, when the Raider banked, veering off sharply, and coming about as it rolled. It was heading towards them! _Yes!_

"_Lu!_"

Lu nodded, ignoring her sister's plea. Standing stock still, she lined up the Cylon fighter in her sights, and fired.

----------

When they landed the Cylon transport near the lake as directed, Malus looked around a few moments, then proceeded as though the last time he had visited this secret Espridian retreat was days ago, not a centi-yahren. What struck the humans was the white rock face of the mountain that towered over them, like Yosemite or the Cliffs of Dover, back on Earth. And although there were no visible traces of a former trail or pathway that they could see, the IL confidently moved forward, finally halting where the sheer drop came to an abrupt stop.

Baker looked upward, placing a hand on the hard, warm surface of the rock. "If Dayton was here, he'd probably want to climb it."

"Yeah," Porter nodded, pausing a moment to catch his breath.

"Why?" Malus asked, stopping and turning back to look at them.

"Because it's there," the Earthmen responded in concert.

"And that justifies an attempt at climbing it?" asked Malus, clearly confused.

"Oh yeah," said Porter.

"I do not understand," said Malus, looking from them, back to the cliff ahead.

"Chill out, Mal," said Baker. "It's a Human thing."

"Oh. I . . . see." He paused. "Actually, it doesn't compute. However, I shall store the data along with psionics, love, luck, humour, and religion as being coexistent in the universe despite the lack of a clear scientific explanation."

"How do we get in?" Jolly asked. "Did these guys even _need _an entrance?"

"They didn't," admitted Malus, "however, _I_ most certainly did."

"So, where is it?" Coxcoxtli asked.

"Right in front of you," Malus replied, sounding pleased with himself.

"That's solid rock in front of us, Mal," Baker told him.

"Psionic energy is making you believe it to be so," Malus replied.

"Mal, the Espridians are dead. Where is this . . . psionic energy coming from?"

"The _Clavis_," Malus replied, motioning towards the rock. "Please. Proceed."

The four humans looked at him sceptically.

The IL shook his head dramatically, 'sighing', "Oh, very well." He stepped forward into the mountainside, disappearing.

"Holy . . ." said Coxcoxtli.

Baker glanced at Porter, whose mouth was hanging open. "You wanna go next?"

Porter shook his head, looking to the Colonials who both seemed to take a step back. He glanced back at Baker. "Rock, paper, scissors?"

"Seems fair to me." He smiled at Jolly and Coxcoxtli, holding up his hand. "Okay, boys, the first time's for demonstration, the next time's for keeps. Let's go."

---------

It was a charmed moment in time when Baltar had known instinctively that the young woman's shot was on target, as she stood there lining up the old Cylon Raider. He didn't even see Starbuck's wife tackled by her sister, or hear the inevitable Cylon salvos start tearing up the ground. Instead, he lined up his own impossible shot to follow hers, innately picturing a ruptured fuel cell, and his own blast of Colonial energy that struck the underside of the hull, raising sparks, and leaving a trail of black smoke in the ship's wake. It was better than having his old podium on the Cylon Base Ship. _Much_ better.

The traitor fired again, once more hitting the now-wobbling fighter. One wing erupted in flame, as the laser penetrated the fuel tank. Bare microns later, the Raider above them exploded magnificently, flaring into a fireball, before becoming a flaming projectile of destruction that hurled into a nearby crest of rock. A subsequent explosion rocked the mountain, setting trees and brush alight, as smoke and debris filled the air. Baltar chuckled, altogether too gleefully, only now noticing that the scarred path of the salvos that had been ripping up the ground stopped just short of him. He laughed again, feeling unfamiliar emotions burbling up inside of him, filling places he had thought long gone. He had defied death once again this day, _not_ because of someone else's reflexes, but because of his _own_ bravery and skill. After all those yahrens of Cylon coercion, treachery, subjugation, humiliation, and self-loathing, Sagan's sake it felt good to _kill _them.

"Nice shooting!" Dietra called out, cutting off his laughter. She looked from the still-burning wreckage of the Raider, then back to Baltar. "Nice shot, er . . . Baltar." She was looking at him suspiciously, and, old bureautician that he was, he could read her thoughts almost before she could think them. Her laser wasn't _quite_ trained on him, but with a flick of her wrist, it could be. She had thought he was turning tail and running.

"Those centurions had to come from _somewhere_, Lieutenant. There's no way a Cylon patrol could take the same mountain pass that we did, and come out unscathed or undetected. I suspect there must be a spot to land somewhere nearby, where they left a troop transport."

"A troop transport?" Lia asked. "I've never heard of a Cylon troop transport."

"Before your time, Ensign," Baltar returned. "When the Cylons sought to conquer a world, rather than just destroy the inhabitants, they would deploy ground troops and landrams from transports, working along with air support. Eventually, when our battlefield became the galaxy, and campaigns were more commonly fought in space rather than on planetary surfaces, transports were less commonly used. General?" He glanced at Caradoc.

"As you said, there is a site that they used for deploying troops from their flying armoured vehicle," Caradoc replied, pointing in the distance. "If we hurry, we might get there before they realize their task force has been destroyed."

Baltar nodded, feeling a surge of confidence race through him. "With an injured man, a ride off this mountain could be useful. We might be able to deceive them."

"We don't have a vocal modifier here," Dietra inserted.

"Strangely enough, you can get a similar effect by simply pressing on your larynx, creating a _vibrato_," Baltar replied with a faint smile, thinking back to when he was a kid playing Colonial Warriors and Cylons. Oddly enough, or possibly prophetically, he usually was stuck being the Cylon. Being the bad guy was almost always more fun. He pressed against his throat, illustrating his point. "With-communications-being-what-they-were-a hundred-yahrens-ago, I'm-willing-to-bet-we-could-pull-it-off."

"Holy frack," Luana murmured. "That could work!"

"Only if we take that transport!" Lia added.

"And quickly," Baltar nodded.

Dietra glanced at the general. "How far?"

"Two thousand paces," Caradoc returned, pointing down the mountain. "Perhaps a little more."

"Pardon me for asking, but is that Odred paces, or Angylion?" Luana asked.

Caradoc sniffed. "Angylion, of course."

She nodded. "Let's be careful. They may have left someone on guard."

"Understood," said Baltar.

Dietra raised her eyebrows, shaking her head almost imperceptibly at the strange team that had come together, before waving them ahead. "Let's go! We'll comm the commander later! When we know more!"

"Yeah, he'll like that!" Lu scoffed, as they took off at a run.

---------

The dust hung in the darkened chamber, making it hard to breath. Chunks of the cave roof had started coming down around them, extinguishing torches, and shaking the mountain, when the Cylons started firing on the Holy Sanctum. The abrupt cessation of Cylon salvos slamming into the cavern, and the explosion only moments later, had been two surprises that Starbuck hadn't been counting on. Not only had Lu, Dietra and Lia been able to draw the Raider's fire, but they had somehow destroyed it. Now _that_ would be a story worth hearing over an Empyrean Ale back on the _Endeavour_. Providing, of course, they were all okay. Part of him wanted to burst out of the cave, following his wife down the trail to reassure himself she was indeed unharmed. Of course, he could just ask Ama . . .

"Everybody okay?" Starbuck hollered, coughing as he inhaled the thick air. He could hear Cassie murmuring reassuringly to Ryan. "I can't see a fracking thing! Count off!" He pulled the heavy medical kit off him and Dayton, sure that something inside was dented beyond repair. Better it than them.

"Fine," Apollo choked out, shaking debris off as he climbed to his feet. "Dayton?"

"I'm alright," Dayton replied, kneeling back and delving into his own pack, trying to find some illuminators. "This bloody thing is like my Mom's purse. As usual, the thing you want is always at the very bottom! Cassiopeia?"

"Ryan and I are okay as well," Cassiopeia replied.

"Half-naked, but alright," the Earthman added. "At least the lights are out."

"Ama?" Starbuck called, squinting as illuminators flared to life from Dayton's position as well as Apollo's. He reached out, taking the one Dayton offered. "Eirys?"

"We are unharmed, Starbuck," Eirys called. "Shaken, but otherwise fine."

Starbuck followed the tone of her voice, climbing to his feet to follow it. Sure enough, both necromancer and sorceress were unscathed as they stood between the altars that the Angylion princes rested upon. As he drew closer, he realized there was not a bit of debris on any of them. No dust. No dirt. No grime. It was as though they had been somehow protected from the attack. But somehow that didn't seem as important as . . .

"Luana and Lia?" he asked, looking at Ama.

"I sense their life forces, Starbuck," Ama replied, nodding. "They still walk this world."

"What about Dietra, Ama?" Ryan called out. "Can you tell if she's . . . well . . . you know."

"I do indeed," Ama replied. "I sense hers as well, Paddy-Ryan."

"By Llyr, we have been fortunate!" Eirys exclaimed.

"Luck has a way of changing," Dayton proclaimed. "You can bet they saw that explosion. They'll send another fighter to investigate what happened to the first, when it doesn't answer. If you're going to awaken these boys, then you have to get on with it, before we all get blown to Hell."

"Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Ama replied, glancing at the Odred female. "Hag?"

"I've been ready nigh on ten years, White Witch," Eirys replied. "Let us begin."

----------

Looking up at the mountain, Commander Mendax mulled the flash of light and distant rumble that had echoed down the valley. While the patrol being out of communication was not a concern at the moment, the fighter sent to back them up was not answering. That _was. _Something wasn't right here. He looked from the brooding peak, to the hovels of the local workers. Whatever it was, they sensed it as well.

"Centurion?" he said. A silver-coloured soldier approached.

"By-your-command."

"Round up some of the workers. I want them questioned. What is it about the mountain that excites them so?" He looked at the centurion. "Spare no pains. Especially theirs."

"By-your-command."

"I shall be in the Command Centre preparing for the countdown."


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The torches were once again alight, shadows dancing on the rock walls, as the necromancer and sorceress circled the sleeping princes slowly, finally coming to a stop at the head of the altars. Starbuck winced, feeling a twinge of pain in his arm where Cassie had field-dressed his wound. He rubbed it distractedly, sucking in a deep breath, and stepping forward when the Empyrean necromancer met his eyes and nodded.

"Hey kid, I've got your six," Dayton murmured after him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"Too bad you don't have my _hemotype_," Starbuck returned wryly.

"That's no Dayton clone, lying there, _Caffeine Cowboy_," the commander replied, shrugging.

"Thank the Lords for _that_," Starbuck returned, rolling his eyes. "I can't imagine _two_ of you."

"Mom used to say the very same thing."

"Oh, you two!" groaned Ryan. "Just kiss, and get it over with."

"Starbuck, if you're done . . ." Ama crooked a finger at him, beckoning him forward.

"You know, the last time we did this, it didn't really go all that well for me," Starbuck replied, forcing his feet to move towards them.

"Only a _drop_ of blood, son of my heart," Ama smiled, stroking her talisman with one hand. It seemed to shimmer for an instant, each time her fingers passed over it.

"If I only had a hundred cubits for every time she's said that . . ." Starbuck muttered to Apollo, as he came to stand beside his friend.

"You'd have lost them at the tables on the _Rising Star_," Apollo returned with a smile. "And then borrowed a few more from me or Boomer."

"Can't even remember the last time I was _on_ the _Rising Star_," he murmured. "You know, I think that blood loss earlier may have caused some memory problems. Really, my bio pulse lines . . ."

"Does he ever stop talking?" Eirys asked Ama.

"When he does, it's usually time to worry," the necromancer replied, drawing the young men to the head of the altar beside them. "You'll know what to do when the time comes, boys."

"She means 'bleed', in case you're wondering," Starbuck murmured conspiratorially.

"Well, that's encouraging," Apollo muttered.

"Awaken Triquetra, maiden, mother and crone!" Ama intoned, raising her hands, palms upward, as though reaching for the Heavens. "I am Ama, born of Arion and Annica of the Empyrean Imperial House." The talisman around her neck began to shine. "I am the Empyrean necromancer, and I call upon you, blessed Triquetra! Invoke your powers, let your strength be mine, so that I may free the Angylions from this curse!"

The sky outside crackled with lightning, and a boom of thunder shook the mountain. As before, when Eirys had murmured other incantations, an unearthly wind began to blow in the contained chamber, where there should have been none. One by one, the torches extinguished, but unexpectedly, it didn't fall dark. Ama now held her hands before her, seemingly supporting an orb of golden light. It didn't quite touch her hands, but was suspended above them.

"I thank thee, dearest Triquetra," Ama murmured, and she smiled blissfully, basking in the radiance of the light. Moments later, it began to grow, slowly enveloping both her and Eirys. Ama raised her hands to the Heavens once again.

"By Llyr . . ." the Odred cried, a single tear drop running down her craggy face as she raised her Oculus before her. "_Gogyfur y'awdurdod o_ _sanctaidd Llyr!__"_

Starbuck glanced at Apollo, startling as a warm hand gripped his own. Then he was starring into the necromancer's grey eyes, feeling a warmth begin to suffuse him, as she leaned forward, touching his forehead with hers. Comforting and calming, she could take him back to the safety of his own mother's arms with just a touch. It was magical, mystical . . . and if he could only bottle it, he'd be a rich man. She pulled back slightly, smiling at him reassuringly, and tucking her arm in the crook of his elbow, before drawing him forward.

It was as though they were walking through eternity, arm in arm, not a care in the universe. Oh, it was probably only microns that had passed, when he looked down in surprise to see he was standing beside Prince Llewelyn, but it felt much longer.

"To please the gods, we must make a sacrifice . . ." Ama paused, raising an eyebrow.

"_We_?" Starbuck returned wryly, but raised his hand anyway, not flinching as a small Empyrean blade pierced his fingertip, and a drop of his blood dripped onto her waiting Empyrean talisman.

A moment later, she was doing the same with Llewelyn, as the prince continued his supernatural slumber. Strangely enough, a drop of blood from the long dead prince joined his own. Once again, she took Starbuck's hand, this time wrapping it around Llewelyn's.

"Do not break your grip. No matter what happens," the necromancer warned him.

"_O_-_kay_," he replied, swallowing hard. "You don't want to let me in on it, do you?"

Ama smiled enigmatically, returning to the head of the alter.

"Thought so," Starbuck murmured, glancing across at Apollo, where Eirys was putting him through a like ceremony, before she too returned to her place.

"May we overcome the demon who seeks to devour the souls of these people!" Ama declared. "I call upon the power of my Goddess, the will of my mother and the strength of my father! I call upon my ancestors, my bloodlines! Let their life forces surge through me, permitting me to right this wrong! Together, we will overcome! United, we will prevail! Release the Angylions! As Arion's own daughter, I command it!"

"_Gogyfur y'awdurdod o_ _sanctaidd Llyr!__"_ Eirys then chanted again, as if to punctuate Ama's words.

Then a blinding light exploded in the cave, like a laser blast in the face, and the ensuing force almost knocked Starbuck over. He almost lost his grip on the prince, dropping to his knees as the mountain shook and groaned, and the wild wind whipped his hair against his face. He squinted against the light, unable to see anything, as his eyes watered against the violent gusts. He huddled against the relative shelter of the altar, still impossibly blasted by the winds that screamed past him like full turbos. Then abruptly, the wind died, and an eerie silence hung over them. A silence that seemed louder than the din that came before.  
While a cold hand twitched in his own.

----------  
Baker had to close his eyes, as he finally passed through the optical illusion that looked like solid rock. Rock, Paper, Scissors had delayed the inevitable, but now it was his turn. There was just something . . . _unreasonable_ about trying to walk through a rock wall, despite the fact that Malus, Jolly, "Coxman", and Porter had already done so.

_What the hell. Captain Kirk did it! It must be true__ . . ._

A friendly slap on his shoulder, and Baker's eyes snapped open, adjusting to the dim light. There was some strange, green overhead lighting to the cavern they had entered, illuminating the chamber sufficiently to see some kind of small Control Centre at one end, and at the other, a small, cylindrical platform, that looked to be carved from the same stone as the cliffs. On top of it was a small sphere.

"Is that it, Mal?" Baker asked.

"Yes, it is. That is the Clavis," Malus replied, heading towards it.

"Doesn't look like much," Porter opined.

"Pick it up," Malus instructed, waving a hand towards it.

Porter glanced at him, and Baker shrugged, refusing to be intimidated by a ball. He stepped forward, wrapping his hand around the strangely warm metal, noticing then that it was an intricate pattern of interlacing metal threads running around and into the ball, seemingly endlessly. It put him in mind of a Celtic knot with its interwoven cords, but seemed far more elaborate than anything he'd seen on Earth. Weirdly, it began to glow softly, almost as if it was in reaction to his grip. His fingers began to tingle as he tried to lift it. His muscles contracted, and unbelievably, he had to exert all of his strength, his left hand joining his right. Still, it wouldn't budge. The small sphere, no more than eight inches across, seemingly weighed God knew how much. "Son of a . . ." He glanced at Porter, who shook his head.

"Bad juju, Bob. Hold up a second," Porter told him, waving him off.

Baker let go, and took a step back. The glow of the sphere faded back to a dull grey metal. The tingling in his fingers took a few moments longer to fade. He glanced at the IL. "Mal?"

"I believe the Clavis is reacting to your biological life form, Baker."

"Huh?" Baker asked, glancing at Malus in surprise.

"The design of the Clavis was described to me as representing the continuous flow of energy, both in the physical plane of the reality of matter, and the abstract reality of the mind. When the Espridians used it, it did indeed glow."

"But how does it work?" Jolly interrupted. "I don't see any sort of controls or instruments on it."

"And why is something that small, so heavy?" Coxcoxtli asked.

"In truth, they never exactly told me how it worked, but from within that orb an unlimited amount of energy is created and released. I believe that accounts for its incredible density." Malus approached it, picking it up as easily as a piece of fruit, before turning, and motioning towards the Control Centre. "Through the Control Centre we can access an interdimensional map of what the Espridians referred to as the Infinite. We simply program our destination, and input the data. The Clavis will take us there."

Coxcoxtli nodded, moving towards the station.

"How do we know where _there_ is?" Jolly asked. "I mean, it's not like we're going to find a sign that says 'your friends are here'."

"Within the mainframe is a detailed record of all the worlds explored and observed by the Espridians. I will merely examine each log, and see if I can come up with a world where Beings exist, such as you all described from the landing bay of the _Endeavour_."

"Sagan sakes," Jolly muttered. "How long will that take?"

"I don't know," Malus admitted. "Sadly."

"Can we move all this?" Coxcoxtli asked.

"Of course. The Clavis is portable."

"Well, that raises a few possibilities," Baker mused, nodding at Porter.

"Earth?" Porter returned.

"Dayton and Ryan first, Earth later."

"Now just a centon," Jolly inserted. "Don't you think maybe we should test it before we start talking about taking it to Earth?"

"Not a bad thought," Baker shrugged, grinning, "but first we need to see if we can find our people." He glanced back at the IL. "Hop to it, Mal,"

"I'd much rather walk, if it's all the same to you, Baker. The hopping jolts my diodes."

----------

"There it is," Baltar said over the howling wind, as he crouched down behind the outcrop of rock. Behind them, far back up the trail, small fires could be seen, kindled by debris from the crashed Raider. Lightning split the sky, and the heavens rumbled in accord. "One Cylon transport, with one guard."

"That we can _see_," Dietra inserted, her eyes raking the barren landscape where rock and scrub seemed to be the sole features. "There could be others. The Cylons aren't exactly known for going it alone."

"I'm ashamed to say that here in Morlais, the Odreds are considered more of a nuisance than . . ." The general suddenly doubled over, grunting. His fellow soldiers followed suit, guttural sounds torn from their throats as they writhed in pain.

"What the frack . . .General?" Luana put a hand on the Odred, then jerked it back as a strange energy and aura surrounded Caradoc and his men. She shielded her eyes against the intensity of the growing light, retreating from them. "Holy Triquetra . . ."

"The timing couldn't be better, Witch . . ." Baltar murmured as he too stepped back, shielding his own eyes, and knowing the energy would be throwing off a light like a beacon. It was the perfect decoy to draw the centurion's attention. He tightened his grip on his weapon, patting Luana on the arm to get her attention. "I'll take the right, you take the left. We'll circle around the centurion, using the shelter of the rocks, and rush the shuttle. Lieutenant Dietra and Ensign Lia can take the centurion when it reaches this position."

"What makes you think you're giving the orders here, Baltar?" Dietra snarled, gripping his arm as he turned to go. "You might have General Caradoc fooled, but I haven't forgotten what you did to our people . . . our civilization."

Baltar turned back, looking her in the eye. "Think of it as a _suggestion_ that merits your careful, but quick, consideration, Lieutenant. We needed a distraction, and here it is. We need to act _now_ to take advantage of it."

"Baltar's right, Dietra," Lia inserted, peering over the rock that shielded them, "as much as I hate to admit it. And the centurion's heading this way. Now."

"We understand how your people feel about Baltar, Dietra," Luana added quietly. The Twelve Colonies of Man were star systems apart from her own beloved home on the planet Empyrean. "And believe me, I'll be keeping an eye on him, and won't hesitate to shoot him if he shows the slightest inclination to betray us."

Baltar's features twisted into a nervous smile as he contemplated Starbuck's wife, then looked back to Dietra. "There. Feel better now, Lieutenant?"

"Loads," Dietra grunted wryly, then nodded. "Okay, let's move out."

"Holy frack!" exclaimed Lu, looking at the locals. "They're . . ."

"Here he comes!" interrupted Baltar.

----------

"Ah Captain, _there_ you are. I understand we have a stowaway." Cain lifted his swagger stick, motioning towards his daughter with it as she hustled onto the _Pegasus_ Bridge.

"Yes, sir," Sheba inclined her head, ascending the command platform. She'd more or less left Boxey in Roz's care so she could report to the Bridge. The attractive lieutenant had every intention of putting the youngster to work, assigning him to the mess sergeant. It would teach the boy that life had consequences—that he had to be responsible for his actions—while also occupying him during regular duty centars, not that a strike captain actually _worked_ regular centars. Later, Sheba would have to figure out how Boxey would continue his education while aboard the _Pegasus_, assuming they'd be out long enough to worry about it. Surely there were instructional modules somewhere on the computer system that had survived the damage and fire which she could access, but then again, _who_ would stand over Boxey and see that he did them was a mystery. He _was_ a bit young for a self-directed education, after all. Not to mention self-directed _responsibility__._ Also, there was the issue of what the boy could do for just plain fun. Other than his trusty daggit, there was little in the way of recreational activities on the _Pegasus_ suitable for children. Then again, young male cadets weren't really _that_ far from being children anyway, she reckoned with a smirk. Perhaps she could pick Bojay's brain about activities to occupy the boy . . . even something to make her own time together with a small boy more comfortable as they were thrown together. . . "Boxey."

"Apollo's son stowing away on a shuttle," murmured Cain. "Not a character trait I would associate with the cap . . . colonel. Wouldn't you agree, Tigh?"

"You never knew Apollo as a teenager," Tigh inserted with a chuckle, as he leaned over Flight Officer Raetic's shoulder. "I'll let Adama tell you _those_ stories."

"Then again, Boxey's adopted, isn't he?" Cain added. He tapped his temple, as though jogging his memory. "Right?"

Sheba shrugged dismissively, not wanting to discuss Apollo's family on the Bridge, but curious nonetheless to hear of Apollo's wilder side. So far, he hadn't mentioned it.

"I assume that after this breach, Captain, you'll be getting our security standards back up to snuff?" Cain inserted. "If the Cylons knew our _secure military vessel_ was infiltrated by a seven-yahren-old boy and his daggit, we would be doomed. Hades, if Adama finds out, he'd laugh me all the way back to Gamoray."

"Oh, he _already_ knows, Commander," Sheba informed him, recognizing the playful glint in her father's eye. That side of him had become more pronounced since his recovery from his injuries and upon rejoining the Fleet. As though the Juggernaut had a new lease on life, and was making the most of it. "After all, I couldn't very well leave Commander Adama in the dark about _this_."

"I suppose not." He glanced at Tigh. "Colonel, have we picked up the _Endeavour_ on our long-range scanners yet?"

Raetic smiled knowingly as he nodded at the colonel, leaning over the monitor. It was as though the Juggernaut instinctively knew . . .

"Only just, sir," Tigh replied, turning back to the commander. "Other than the _Endeavour_, our scanner is clear. We're still outside of communications range."

"And the energy source?"

"Sensors still can't identify it, Commander," Raetic inserted. "It's an anomaly."

"Men have said the same about me," Cain grinned. "Set a course for the anomaly. And open a line to the _Endeavour _once we're within range."

"Yes, sir."

----------

"Captain, we just picked up a contact on our long-range scanners," Cadet Sagaris reported. "At extreme range."

"Identity?"

"Still too far for any details, sir. But it's definitely a ship, and headed this way at lightspeed. Factor One point six-six."

"Concentrated scan, Sagaris," said Dorado. He looked over at the commsuite. "Anything, Pierus?"

"Not . . . yes. Just barely. An ID beacon . . . Colonial. Checking." Pierus replied, pausing while the computer ran the numbers. "Confirmed."

"Have it now," said Sagaris. "Definitely one of ours. She's a Battlestar."

"The _Pegasus_?" Dorado asked, half an eye still on the sensors.

"Aye, sir. ID beacon confirmed."

"Checking up on us, Commander Cain?" the captain murmured quietly, crossing to the scanner. His first reaction was one of mild annoyance at his former CO, and then he remembered that his _current_ superior officers were both in an alternate dimension, leaving _him_—a man with more rebuilds than the _Endeavour_ and _Pegasus_ combined—in charge of the newly minted Covert Operations Ship. "Any word from Lieutenant Jolly?"

"Message coming in now, Captain," Pierus replied. "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

"_Captain, Jolly here. We've located the Espridian device__.__ It's fairly small, actually, and Malus has concluded that it's mobile, and that we can move both it and its Control Centre to the _Endeavour_."_

"To the _Endeavour_?" Dorado repeated. "Are you guys actually thinking about flying this old bird through some kind of . . . unknown alien space portal?"

"_Pretty much, Captain_," Jolly replied grimly. "_After all, we don't know what kind of resistance we're going to be meeting, and we'd rather go in prepared. With your approval, of course, sir."_

Dorado closed his eyes briefly. Sagan, he was the officer that had spearheaded the mission to throw the antiquated, derelict and damaged Cylon _Abbadon-_class Base Ship against a relatively shiny and new _Hades_-class vessel, and had won. After a micron's careful contemplation, he knew that Dayton would do it. Damn sure, Starbuck would do it. And knowing that his people were counting on him, Apollo would do it too.

"Sounds like fun, Jolly. Now get your astrums back here ASAP, before Commander Cain tries to steal our thunder. The _Pegasus_ is closing in."

"_Yes, sir!"_

----------

Abruptly, the mountain rumbled and shook again like it was going to come apart, and Starbuck knew exactly how it felt as he stared into a pair of shocked blue eyes, so like his own. It was unnerving, to say the least, but at least _he_ was prepared. The poor kid looked like he had seen a ghost, and even the faint glow of his skin, giving Prince Llewelyn an ethereal appearance, couldn't hide his disbelief and instinctive fear as he awakened from a ten yahren slumber, that had him teetering on death's door.

"Who . . . who _are_ you?" Llewelyn gasped, his voice rough and raspy, tearing his hand from Starbuck's as he looked around. His eyes settled on his brother, also rising only a metron away, Apollo at his side. "Glynn!" he croaked, coughing. "You . . . you're alive!" he sat upright, feasting hungry and desperate eyes upon his brother, before swinging his legs off the altar, and using it as a physical barrier between him and Starbuck. Instinctively, he reached for a weapon that wasn't there. Having no alternative, he doubled his fists, and took a boxer's stance. "What . . . what _witchcraft_ is this?"

"You don't know how close you are to the truth, pal," Starbuck replied calmly, holding his hands up to show the prince he meant no harm. "Captain Starbuck of the Colonial Covert Operations Ship _Endeavour_."

"Star . . . Colonial?" The other shook his head. "Babbling fool! What madness is in your mouth?"

"Hey, it's true. My name is Starbuck. Or as Eirys would probably prefer to put it, your doublewalker from another dimension."

"He speaks the truth, my prince!" Eirys averred, stepping forward in all her splendour.

Before, a vile troll, she was now a vision of beauty, an enchantress. Her long blonde hair blew around her slender figure, a soft light emitting from her making her look like an angel. Every man in the cavern, with the exception of Llewelyn and Glynn, seemed to suck in a stunned breath at her radiance. A glance at Cassie showed she looked just as overwhelmed by the princes . . . although even Starbuck could admit, they were handsome fellows, most notably Llewelyn . . .

"Doublewalker?" Llewelyn echoed, shaking his head in bemusement. He visibly relaxed. "For the love of Llyr, the legend is _true_!" Then he paused, frowning, as he looked back to his brother. "Which means . . . we were both . . . dead . . . _Glynn_ . . . " his voice peaked anxiously.

"Breathe easy, brother," Glynn crossed to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "If we have been given a second chance, let us make the most of it, instead of dwelling on it."

A crack of thunder roared, and lightning sundered the sky. An impossible wind tore through the cavern, and Starbuck glared at Ama, as the elements continued to assault them. "Do you mind?"

She reached out, grabbing his hand, and pulling him close. "Get the princes out of here. _Now_."

"Why? What's going on?" he asked, feeling his guts churn in reaction to her serious demeanour.

"He's coming!" Eirys cried, raising her hands skyward. "I . . . I feel the Mystic's approach!"

"Iblis?" Starbuck asked, his chest hitching at the very thought of the evil Being that had killed Apollo.

"No, Father Yule," Ama returned sarcastically. Another sheet of lighting ripped across the sky, the concussion of the thunder shaking more rocks loose about them. She turned to Dayton. "Get them all out of here, Mark-Dayton. This is _my_ fight. Yours awaits you at the Base Ship."

"Are you sure, Ama?" Dayton asked.

"I'm sure."

"Giddy-up," Ryan grimaced, sitting up painfully. "This should be fun. From the top of Mt. Crumpet . . ."

"Is there another way out?" Dayton asked Eirys as he began to pull Ryan to his feet, allowing his friend to lean heavily on him.

"Well . . ." she began reluctantly.

"The ore carts!" Llewelyn inserted, waving a hand at the back of the cave.

"Those carts haven't been used in generations!" Glynn reminded him. "Rusted hulks."

"Don't be so sure," Starbuck replied.

"He's right." Apollo replied. "Your people have been mining ore ever since the Cylons invaded, Prince Glynn. Let's move out!"

Llewelyn moved to help, as Cassiopeia struggled to her feet. "Are you hurt, my lady?"

"It's superficial," Cassiopeia returned a little breathlessly, as she accepted the prince's hand. "I'll be all right, Prince Llewelyn."

"What is _your_ name?" Llewelyn asked, kissing the back of her hand, before putting a supporting arm around her.

"Cassiopeia."

"Are all the women from your dimension as breathtaking, Cassiopeia? I believe I should very much like to go there."

Cassie smiled at the resplendent prince. "Are all the men in your dimension so charming?"

"Alas, only I," Llewelyn returned with a mischievous grin. "The rest are louts and boors."

"Hey, bub," Dayton interrupted, tempted to drop Ryan, and then the prince. "Back off! The lady's spoken for."

"_Llewelyn_ . . ." Glynn chastised his brother.

"Such a vision of loveliness, my brother," Llewelyn explained. "I cannot resist."

"Lords," murmured Apollo with a glance at Starbuck. "Let's get out of here, people!"

"I will stay and face Iblis with you, White Witch," Eirys told her.

"No, Eirys. Stay with your princes, and reunite them with your people." Ama replied. "To have their sovereigns, and the sorceress who saved them, lead the Angylions against the Cylons will be a good omen, indeed."

"May Llyr watch over you, Ama," Eirys gripped her hand.

"May he stand with me instead," Ama returned, returning the gentle pressure. "Now go!"

Starbuck stood there uncertainly as the others headed towards the back of the cave. "Ama, come with us."

"And ride those mine carts?" Ama returned with a gapped tooth grin. "I'd rather walk, Dear Heart."

"Ama, Iblis is . . ." He didn't really know how to put it, and instead grabbed her hands, shaking his head slightly as he tilted his forehead against hers. Then he tried to remember every moment of every encounter he'd had with Count Iblis since meeting him on that strange planet, right up until the count had struck down Apollo and disappeared. Ama could relive it all with him, getting every impression, every subtle nuance that he couldn't convey in words in the short time they had.

Ama smiled, pulling back her forehead from his, and looking into his eyes. "I know what Iblis is, Starbuck. More importantly, I know _who_ he is."

"He's no ordinary man."

"I'm no ordinary woman, son."

"Ama . . ." His throat tightened inexplicably. After all she had done for him, all she meant to him, it was like abandoning his mother to face a demon. He shook his head. Come to think of it . . .

He couldn't do it.

"_Star-buck_!" Apollo's voice called from deep within the cavern. Again, thunder boomed, and rock dust rained down.

"You must go, Starbuck. I have to do this alone," Ama told him gently. "_Now_, son."

"But . . ."

"Kid!" Dayton suddenly barked, running towards them. "The train is leaving. Let's go! We have a battle to win!"

Ama nodded at the commander thankfully as Dayton gripped Starbuck's arm persuasively. "Take him, Mark-Dayton. Get him out of here."

Starbuck tore loose, taking a step away from the Earthman, ignoring the sudden burning pain of his various injuries. No, he couldn't leave her to Iblis. He couldn't face coming back and finding her dead, another victim of the vile Count. "Back off, Dayton!"

"The _hell_ I will," Dayton threw himself at the younger man, gripping him again, and jerking Starbuck back against him. He locked an arm across the warrior's chest, dragging him backwards. "You're . . . you're coming with me! That's an order!"

"Take your order . . . and shove it up your . . .egotistical, overbearing . . . " Starbuck snarled, twisting in the man's hold, looking for an opening. He was running on pure adrenaline now.

"Hey! I'm your friend! Your CO! The Big Kahuna!" Dayton roared. "Calm the hell down, _Espresso Bean_! Let's put things in perspective here!"

"Let me go, Dayton, or I'll flatten ya!" Starbuck rasped, trying to struggle out of the commander's tylinium-clad grip. "_Ama_ . . . I can't . . ."

"Starbuck, understanding as you do what he is, you can't protect me from Iblis. As much as you wish otherwise, you know that is true," Ama told him as Dayton adjusted his grip on the younger man. "This is my fight. My destiny."

"We have to go, _Extremo-Caf_!" Dayton repeated, sensing the growing desperation in the younger man. There was really only one way to handle this. With a sudden move, he twisted Starbuck in his grip, grasping his shoulders, and pulling the young captain to face him. "_Listen_ to me. If you want to stay, I _won't_ stop you. All right?" The kid relaxed at that, looking at him almost uncertainly. Dayton released him, holding his hands up innocuously. "Now listen to me. Just hear me out. Okay?"

Starbuck nodded once, glancing at Ama who was glowering at them impatiently.

And that's when Dayton sucker punched him.


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The air was suddenly still, the cavern eerily silent. A slight shiver passed over Ama, and she took a deep involuntary breath, as she felt a familiar malignant presence probing her, trying to infiltrate the pureness of her spirit. However, her powers had grown significantly since the last time they had met in the solitude of the Celestial Dome over seven sectars ago, and she had fought him off then, repelling his assault. She had learned much from that encounter. This time his persistent scrutinizing was more like a nibble than an attack.

"Show yourself, Iblis," she demanded. "Do you hear me? Show yourself!"

The flash of light and blast of wind would have startled a lesser individual, but Ama stood her ground as Count Iblis appeared before her, resplendent in his long white robes. His dignified and handsome looks were deceiving, misleading any who did not know his true nature. However, Ama had never been impressed by looks, knowing anyone can wear a façade.

His gaze bored through her. "You _dared_ to invoke Arion's name when you freed the Angylions! Stripling! A name banished by the Elders from history!" he accused her. "By what right, Fool?"

"That right which is mine alone," she replied, her intense gaze matching his own. "For I am Arion's daughter. I am Arion's blood."

"_Daughter_ . . ." he replied, taken aback. His eyes narrowed as he peered at her.

She felt his powers probing her, looking deep beyond mortal sight, then his features softened ever so slightly.

"Ah, yes. I see it now," Iblis murmured. Then he whispered, "_Annica_."

Ama probed him in turn, trying to read his feelings and mind, and getting a mere glimpse of the depth of emotion he had once felt towards Annica. Then his eyes flashed angrily at her, as he realized she had infiltrated his defences. The barrier was erected in a milli-centon. It was like trying to infiltrate a fortress, the walls around his mind were impenetrable. "Then you _do_ remember her," Ama returned, a little bitterly. "I should, of course, be . . . flattered."

"Of course, I remember her," Iblis insisted, a further flash of annoyance crossing his features as he considered the necromancer.

"Then tell me how a man so beloved," Ama tilted her chin up, preparing herself for anything, "could turn into one so despised, father of mine."

----------

"Go!" Baltar whispered urgently to Luana, as the centurion drew closer. "Now!"

It was difficult to focus on the mission, as she gazed in disbelief at the former Odreds, who were now picking themselves slowly off the ground, examining themselves and each other in awe and disbelief. As a race, Luana had to admit, the Angylions were some of the most beautiful Beings she had ever laid eyes on. She closed her gaping gob, swallowing down her incredulity as she gasped at General Caradoc's transformed appearance. He looked like a younger version of Baltar, but incredibly fit, with a full head of hair, and filled with a determination and purpose that filled every fibre of his very existence. Ancient battle dress replaced the stinking rags he had worn as an Odred, however, the diminutive sword he carried now looked out of place, hefted as it was by his huge hand, his arm behind it packed with sculpted muscles. Now, rather than some bent and deformed goblin, he looked like a professional bodybuilder. Lords, he was fracking gorgeous!

She smiled slightly, wondering what her reaction to Prince Llewelyn would be if _Caradoc_ so inspired her. After all, she could spend idle centars gazing upon the handsome visage of Starbuck. A living, breathing Llewelyn would be like Starbuck to the _nth_ degree! With a lascivious grin, she shook off the reverie, returning her mind to the task at hand. If they could reach the shuttle at the same time as the centurion reached Dietra and Lia, then they would maintain the advantage. Lu knew that.

Wordlessly, Luana slipped away, using the shelter of the rocks and trees to creep towards the shuttle as the centurion lumbered to a sudden stop, staring up at the top of Mt. Cadoc. Lightning and thunder that had angrily filled the sky and the senses, had suddenly stopped, making Lu wonder what was going on in that cave. The centurion certainly seemed perplexed by it, if that was _possible_ with a cybernetic Being.

With the benefit of youth and fitness, and long established habits of tracking and hunting in the wilds of the Planet Empyrean, she reached the shuttle before Baltar, waiting for him silently under the cover of half-dead scrub. The centurion was still, his characteristic drone filling the relative silence eerily, making her want to shoot him now. Damn, but she hated the waiting, harbouring an impatience that she struggled with each and every time she was about to spring an attack. But experience had taught her that timing was crucial to success.

Moments later Baltar appeared, moving towards the Cylon transport with a stealth that surprised her. Actually, _Baltar_ surprised her. It was difficult to equate this man with the one that had betrayed the Colonies. Was it possible for any individual, especially one who had facilitated the death of billions, to undergo such a dramatic transformation in character? Still, the obvious hatred and contempt felt by her own husband, as well as so many others, cautioned her to keep wary, even knowing that Baltar had saved Starbuck's life on Planet 'P'.

She smiled slightly as Baltar, head barely visible above some ferns, nodded curtly at her, giving her a signal. Yes, he certainly was taking charge, as though they were all his own personal warriors to command. Old habits died hard, she decided. She crept forward, now out in the open, but keeping low so as to keep out of the line of sight of any Cylons lurking within the transport. Microns later she was standing on one side of the open hatch, and Baltar was on the other.

Baltar nodded again, and together they moved. She let him slip inside slightly ahead of her, almost hearing Starbuck reminding her subconsciously not to let the traitor out of her sight. Simultaneously, a laser blast from outside bespoke of that centurion's demise. At that, two further centurions waiting on the flight deck moved away from the instruments, heading aft. Baltar shot the first, its pulse rifle barely raised, and a split micron later, Lu fired on the other. In a explosion of sparks, they toppled to the deck.

Baltar turned to Lu with an infectious grin of complete and utter joy. "We did it!"

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," she returned with an answering smile.

Baltar replied with a heartfelt chuckle, turning as the Angylions rushed aboard, moving with a grace and assurance that seemed inherent to their breed.

"Well done, my friends!" General Caradoc smiled, holding his arms wide as he approached them. "This is it! The moment the Angylions rise against the Cylons! We will crush them! Annihilate them! No longer will the Cylons threaten our world, or any other in this universe!"

"The princes . . .?" Baltar started to ask.

"The curse has been lifted! Eradicated!" Caradoc returned in a booming voice. "I can sense our sacred princes already preparing to join our forces, to lead them to victory! We must rendezvous with them at the mine. There you will be reunited with your people."

"But how will they get from the cave to the mine . . ." Luana asked uncertainly.

"The old abandoned mine carts," Caradoc returned. "Fifty years ago, the tracks connected every mine in Morlais without exception. However, King Byrne decided the Holy Sanctum should be used only for sacred rites and ceremonies; therefore, it was placed off limits for the general population."

"Wait a centon," Baltar inserted. "These decrepit mine carts are how our people are currently getting off the mountain, instead of simply walking out the entrance and down the path?"

"Time is of an essence, my brother. Our princes will realize that," Caradoc nodded. He glanced out the viewport, back up towards the mountain, where a crack of lightning fractured the sky once again. "Our forces will be amassing as we speak. A race of Angylions will be arming themselves for the most important battle of our history. They need leadership and inspiration. They need their sovereigns and their general."

"Then we must make haste!" Baltar agreed, glancing at Luana. "Can you fly this old rattrap?"

"Fly a derelict Cylon transport?" she asked with a wry smile, as Dietra and Lia boarded behind them, a pulse rifle in Dee's spare hand. "Nothing to it."

Caradoc grinned joyously, motioning the Colonial Warriors forward. "Then let us proceed! Freedom! Glory! Morlais!"

The engines roared to life, and the transport began to rise.

"_Freedom! Glory!_ _Morlais_!"

----------

Starbuck awoke to a sudden jolting of his body, and a throbbing in both his jaw and the back of his head. He groaned, as he forced open heavy-lidded eyes to see Dayton looking down at him in concern, hanging over the edge of a mine cart.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" the _Endeavour_ commander asked, putting a blurry hand in front of the warrior's face.

"You bracking fastard . . . " Starbuck cursed, his tongue feeling unnaturally thick in his mouth. A quick study revealed he'd been dumped in a filthy, rusted old ore cart. Already his legs were bent, the cart being compact and cramped. His fleeting thought of hurling himself at Dayton in reprisal disappeared as a wave of dizziness assaulted him. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep, ragged breath. Lords, he'd need a prybar to get him out of this thing!

"Fingers!" Dayton repeated, his commanding voice hiding an underlying note of guilt. "C'mon, _Hazelnut Amaretto__._How many?"

"Your fingers are upside down!"

"Quit evading the question, _Drip Grind__._"

"What the frack did you hit me with anyway? A landram?" Starbuck muttered, palpating a lump at the back of his skull. He pulled away his hand, sticky with blood. "Oh, great! Just what I needed!"

Dayton let out a harsh breath, pulling his hand back. "You fell and hit your head when I decked you." He managed to sound appropriately chagrined.

"Sometimes that happens when you sucker punch a guy," Starbuck grumbled, with a cautious glance around. He didn't see any other carts. They were alone. "Where are the others?"

"Ours is the last cart," Dayton replied with an uneasy shrug. "The others went on ahead." He pointed down the tunnel.

Starbuck lifted his eyebrows, staring dubiously up at the older man. "Where's Ama?"

Dayton frowned, glancing back over his shoulder. He looked back at Starbuck, leaning closer. "As if you didn't know." He raised a hand as Starbuck shifted. "Look, I promised Ama I'd keep you away from there. I gave her my word. If I have to clock you again, I will, kid."

"Dayton, you don't know what she's up against . . ." Starbuck started to argue, planting a foot and gripping the sides of the cart with the intent of getting himself out of there. He heaved himself upwards.

The Earthling grabbed him by the tunic, giving him a shake. "Damn it, kid, you're more stubborn than a coffee stain on my mother's best table cloth!"

Starbuck could feel the colour drain from his face as his head went supernova. He gripped Dayton's hands, but more to steady himself, than anything else, as he felt his astrum impact the bottom of the cart again. Closing his eyes tightly, he could feel the bile rise in the back of his throat. "_Frack_ . . ." he groaned as his stomach convulsed traitorously while he dry heaved.

"Damn!" Dayton cursed, loosening his grip, and looking Starbuck over anxiously. "Just breathe." He paused, as Starbuck sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. "I think you have a concussion."

"Ya think?" Starbuck returned angrily, brushing the hair from his eyes as he glared at the Earthling.

"Better now?"

"Damn, Dayton! Anyone ever tell you that you have _issues_!"

Dayton grinned, chuckling lightly. "Scoot forward, _Toffee Nut Latte_. We have to catch up to the others, and I have no intention of sitting on your lap. You having the wrong DNA, and all."

"Oh, so I should sit on yours?" Starbuck returned sourly.

"Face it, you're more fragile, _Juan Valdez_." Dayton loomed over him, his hands on either side of the cart. "Besides, if you puke, I'd rather be _behind_ you."

"If we're hurtling down a track, it probably won't matter _where_ you are," Starbuck returned.

Dayton paused. "You have a point, but I'll take my chances. Besides, you weren't here when Prince Llewelyn was explaining how to manoeuvre this thing."

"You can manoeuvre a rust-encrusted mine cart?" Starbuck asked, glancing around the cart, and spotting two handles at the rear. They were grimy, rusted, and looked as if the last time they had been used, Kobol had still been a going concern. "How? With prayers?"

"One of those triggers the track to switch. The other is a brake." Dayton sighed. "I alone know which is which, and when to switch tracks. And hey, don't worry. It worked for Indiana Jones, so it'll work for us. So move it, Captain!"

Starbuck sighed, having no idea what an Indiana Jones was, and reluctant to find out. He shimmied forward slowly as the Earthman propelled himself into the cart. He grunted as Dayton's lean, muscular limbs enfolded him, and then shifted, trying to get comfortable. "Why couldn't I ride with Eirys, instead?" Starbuck groused.

"Believe me, I'd much rather ride with Cassiopeia, _Espresso Truffle_." Then he fidgeted before asking, "Ready?"

"Not really, but let's get it over with," Starbuck returned, gazing ahead into the impenetrable darkness. His head really wasn't going to like this, and his roiling stomach wouldn't be too crazy about it either.

A pull of a handle, and with a creaky bump, the cart rolled forward gaining both speed and momentum as they plunged into the inky depths of the mine.

----------

"Well?" Dorado asked Malus for the tenth time aboard the _Endeavour_, knowing that Cain would be within communications range any centon now. He rubbed at his eye socket, feeling a throbbing building there behind the prosthesis.

"I haven't found it yet, but I _will_," the IL replied, his lights flashing like a spastic Yule decoration in a high wind, as he continued to probe the Clavis' data logs. The whole assembly, Clavis and pedestal, was now in the Base Ship's main engineering section. Wires, probes, and cables surrounded it, constantly monitoring it, and tying it in to the ship's main systems. "However, according to the specs, if I am interpreting them correctly, I believe I have confirmed that the Clavis can actually transport the entire _Endeavour_ to this alternate dimension for which we are searching. Her ability to move objects, if I am interpreting these records correctly, does not appear to be limited to small ships or merely Beings."

"The whole ship?" Dorado confirmed. "And its crew?"

"I believe so."

"Sagan, Mal, I need more than 'I believe so'," Dorado snapped impatiently. "We're talking about risking an entire battleship here! Do you know how many men and women are aboard?"

"Four hundred and ninety-three, to be precise. Twenty-three officers, eighty-five cadets, and . . ."

"That was rhetorical, Mal," Dorado sighed. The throb was getting worse.

"We must save Starbuck, Captain Dorado. I have calculated the odds, and it is my opinion that it would be an acceptable risk."

"This _isn't_ a card game!"

"_Life_ is a card game, Captain," Malus returned. "Full of risk, chance and speculation. The one thing I can tell you for sure, is that if you throw in your cards, you do not win." The IL looked from one human to another. "And you certainly do not get the girl."

"Did Starbuck teach you that?" Dorado snorted, caught somewhere between disbelief and the absurdity of the moment. A Cylon pontificating on relations between the sexes! _And_ being right! Sagan's sandals, he could picture a endless queue of Starbuckian truisms being quoted at him for the rest of his career, or at least for as long as he worked with Malus.

"Yes, he did. He also taught me about allegiance to one's friends."

"Bucko wouldn't risk every man and woman's life on this ship to go after him, Mal," Dorado reminded him. "It would be different if I had some hard data that this Clavis thing works." He gestured at the humming sphere. "Hades hole, even moving it from the Espridian base could have altered or damaged it somehow. Then there's the fact that it hasn't even been used in over a hundred yahren." Yeah, he was having second thoughts. It was one thing to proceed courageously, and quite another to proceed rashly, accepting irrational risks.

"I believe I've found it, Captain Dorado," Malus looked up again. "The planet which we seek."

"Captain, I volunteer," Jolly suddenly spoke up from where he leaned silently against the hatch, watching.

"Jolly?"

"Sir, since Malus just found us a destination in that interdimensional atlas he's been looking through," the lieutenant motioned at the control system, "it makes sense to do a trial run. A test flight. Just to make sure a fighter could get there in one piece, and back again. Lia, Starbuck, Apollo, Luana . . . they're all like kin to me. I volunteer to take one of the Hybrids on a test run to give you the data you need."

"You'll need a co-pilot, Jolly," Baker inserted, stepping forward with his arms crossed decisively. "I'm your man."

Jolly grinned, holding out a hand to grip the Earthman's forearm. He glanced back at Dorado. "Well, sir?"

"As the Hybrid fighters are outfitted with three seats," Malus inserted, "I think it would be beneficial to attend this test flight, personally. That way I can properly analyse how both the pilots and machine withstand the exercise. I have already set the coordinates into the Clavis. Coxcoxtli can do the rest." He nodded at the young warrior.

"Alright," Dorado said briskly, after receiving a nod of confirmation from Coxcoxtli. "Jolly, assess the situation when you're there. Maybe we can get by with sending a shuttle to retrieve our team, instead of taking the _Endeavour_. Hopefully, they've already found Starbuck and are just waiting for a ride out of there. Get down to the launch bay and stand by. All three of you."

"Yes, sir!"

----------

Iblis stood stock-still, considering Ama. Startlingly, she couldn't tell _what_ was going through his mind, which might have been a blessing. He only stared at her, as if weighing her words, and searching for the deception within them.

"You seem surprised," she offered, frowning as his lips settled into a thin line. She stroked her talisman, using the comforting gesture to calm her stretched nerves. She had been groomed for this moment all her life. Prepared to be her people's champion. Their leader, their advisor, their friend, their confidante, their spiritual warrior. But never had she thought it would come to this. Of course, it was only lately that she realized why her powers had blossomed so significantly, against all expectations, when she had left the relative seclusion of the Planet Empyrean.

It was then that those that the Colonials referred to as the Ship of Lights Beings began to guide her, counsel her, welcome her into their fold, where before they had only quietly observed. It was "John" who had let it slip, that the purported Lord of Darkness, Count Iblis, was her own father, banished from Empyrean for precipitating events centi-yahrens before that had led to the Thousand Yahren War between the Cylons and Humans. The solemn edict of not interfering with "less developed" races, but merely observing, had been broken by one who had little respect for the Elders' rules. Arion had strategically disappeared as his kind searched for him, seeking to punish him for his interference. They had ultimately found him on Empyrean, this time not only interfering, but brazenly manipulating yet another society. The name "Arion" was forever stricken from history, as they exiled him from their domain forevermore. From that moment on, he would be known as "Iblis, He That Causes Despair".

Now she had to wonder if it was accidental, or premeditated, that John had let her in on the two-centi-yahren-old secret. There was a niggling at the back of her mind that she couldn't ignore, making her wonder if perhaps _she_ was the one being manipulated. Then again, John had warned her that Iblis could confound the most determined and convictional individual, but her instincts were telling her that something was amiss. She had expected a powerful showdown. A clash of cosmic forces. A battle to the death. Yet, here Count Iblis stood, simply regarding her, shaking his head in wonder . . . and sorrow. Yes, she felt that sorrow radiating off him as surely as she was his own daughter.

"Twice!" he muttered, looking at the ground.

"What?"

"Twice betrayed," he replied bitterly, turning his back on her in an angry swirl of robes.

"Twaddle!" she returned with more than a little anger in her own tone, motivated more by confusion than anything else. "Speak to me of this perceived betrayal, Arion, and I will tell you the truth."

He turned once more to regard her, and then spoke derisively. "What do you, a mere _child_, know of truth?"

She smiled at that. _Ama_? A child? Perhaps to a Being as old as Arion. "That it comes in many shapes and forms, some more palatable than others. Yet here," she tapped her chest, "in my heart and soul, I can distinguish it from lies." Then she crossed to stand before him, staring up into his penetrating eyes, so cold and emotionless. "Can you?"

----------

It was wild, exhilarating, and by far the craziest ride that Apollo had ever taken in his life. His hands clung to the sides of the ore cart, knuckles white, as the wind blew in his face from the rushing air. His stomach pitched, and his body careened from one side to the next as the creaking, rusted, piece of felgercarb followed its course through the mine. He couldn't help the whoop of shear joy and euphoria that slipped out as he saw the promise of light at the end of the tunnel.

Then his high spirits turned to horror as the ore cart raced through a cavern, revealing Cylon centurions approaching the tracks. They didn't seem as startled as he, pulling their weapons as he did, but aiming them too late, as his cart plunged through the two foolish enough to straddle the tracks. They flew aside with a crash and shower of sparks, and then the Viper pilot was past them, back to the relative safety of the next stretch of darkness. Sparks exploded behind him, doing Lords knew what damage to the tracks as they fired anyway. The Cylons had been expecting them, which didn't bode well for the last ore cart that would pass that way. He reached for his communicator, jerking it off his belt, even as the cart careened down a steep hill. He almost dropped the device, as he fell heavily to the right, almost wondering if the cart was about to loose traction, before it righted itself again. Finally, it began to slow, and the rest of his party came into view in the brightness of daylight. He could see Prince Llewelyn ahead of him helping Cassiopeia from their cart, as Apollo gripped the communicator again, activating it.

"Starbuck! Come in! Starbuck!" Apollo waited a few microns as he drew closer to the others, then remembered the last he'd seen of Starbuck, he'd been slumped over Dayton's shoulder unconscious, the victim of stubbornness meeting determination. "Dayton! Do you read me? It's Apollo! Commander, come in!"

"Not going to work, Apollo," Ryan told him, as the cart gently rolled past him. He shrugged as Apollo applied the brake, looking up at him enquiringly. "The interference from the raw minerals in this place is unbelievable." He held his own communicator in his hand, obviously having tried it already.

"Frack! How far back is it to where the Cylons were?" Apollo asked, glancing at Prince Glynn, then back into the tunnel. If they weren't there to help, Dayton and Starbuck would surely be taken. It was about the worst thing that could go wrong during an impending attack on the Cylon Base Ship.

Glynn frowned, and glanced at Ryan. "Straight uphill in the darkness, it would take far longer for us to backtrack, then it would for the Cylons to seize thy friends. And I be not certain that my Lord Ryan here would make it."

"I'm sure Lord Ryan _wouldn't_, Governor," Ryan murmured, cinching the ceremonial cloak he had found in the altar a little tighter around his hips, his hand passing gently over the bandage that covered his abdomen, as he stood slightly hunched over.

"Besides that, were our roles were reversed, I would send that cart on its way down here after capturing prisoners, simply to make sure that anyone coming back up the track for said reason was crushed." Llewelyn posed with a shrug. "Two prisoners are usually enough."

"Well, is there another way up there that's quicker?" Apollo returned, turning to crane his neck as a familiar sound drew his attention.

"No, Captain Apollo," Glynn replied, turning and hefting a Cylon sword that he had claimed as his own in the Holy Sanctum, as the sound of clapping boots approached.

Apollo pulled his weapon, noting absently that the charge was running down as he stood there waiting. He'd have to conserve his shots for the ones that _really_ counted. A moment later, five Angylions raced into sight.

"Prince Glynn! Prince Llewelyn!" The first was a dark, long-haired warrior with a build like a landram. He slowed, upon seeing the princes, then dropped down on one knee, bowing his head briefly, before regaining his feet. An enormous sword hung sheathed at his side. "You cannot know how relieved we are to see thee both! It hath begun! We are arming our forces, and preparing to retake the city."

"Jac!" Glynn proclaimed, gripping the Angylion's arm. "As a diversion, I assume. Where be the rest of our forces?"

"Amassing in the shelter of the abandoned mine, awaiting upon thy orders, my liege." He paused, looking at the humans. "Mouric and Neiran were taken. Tortured. We found their remains . . ." The Angylion shuddered, touching his forehead with his fingers, before continuing. "I believe they informed the Cylons of the connection with the old mine tracks and the Holy Sanctum. We thought thou wouldst be taken."

"All but two of us made it out, Jac," Llewelyn told him. "We are uncertain of their fate."

"Eirys?" Glynn turned to the sorceress. "Anything?"

Her eyes were closed, and she looked serene as she inclined her head towards the sky. "General Caradoc and Commander Baltar have captured a Cylon ship. They will meet us at the mine."

"What the fra . . ." Apollo gaped. "How can you know that?"

"I know," Eirys returned enigmatically. "Would your own White Witch not perceive such things?"

"I . . . uh . . ." Apollo shrugged slightly, realizing that not only did these Beings have a far more sophisticated level of communication that the Humans did, but that he'd never really discussed exactly _how_ Ama knew if Starbuck was alive or dead, dismissing it as primitive, backwards mumbo jumbo, rather than an advanced method of gathering information, outside the usual methods of science.

Ryan stepped forward. "Can you . . . communicate at all with our warriors who went after Baltar? Or sense if they're okay?"

"They are with Caradoc and Baltar, and all are yet safe," Eirys nodded. "Or so the general has informed me. I do not sense your people, as I do mine." She frowned slightly. "Which of course means, I cannot tell you if Starbuck and Commander Dayton still live, or if they will succumb to the fate of Mouric and Neiran."

Apollo nodded. "I understand." So all that was left was to rendezvous with Baltar and the Angylion general, and to come up with a plan that would not only include destroying the Base Ship before it could launch, and liberating Morlais, but somehow finding Starbuck and Dayton. It was going to be a _long_ day.

----------

"Commander-Mendax, Flight-Leader-Subventus, by-your-command" said a centurion.

"Speak, Centurion," replied Mendax, dividing his time between perusing the various reports from his underlings, and gazing up at the vast bulk of the mountain.

"The-engineers-report-that-all-auxilliary-power-units-have-been-reinstalled-and-are-ready-to-be-reinitialised."

"Excellent."

"Main-reactor-one-is-also-ready-to-be-reinitialised."

"Also excellent, Centurion. Tell the engineers to proceed." The patrol that Plectus had led to the Angylion Holy Sanctum had not reported in, and inexplicably the race of Odreds had been transformed back into their original species. There had been sporadic uprisings in Morlais, most of them easily defeated by the superiority of Cylon weaponry. After all, the creatures were unorganised and lacked leadership. Now Mendax had only to hear if the information acquired though the interrogation of two Odreds had been productive, as he awaited news of the possible capture of a group of conspiring Angylions by yet another patrol. Possibly, it wouldn't matter If all went to plan, they would be in orbit over this despicable planet, and eradicating the entire population with their mega-pulsars by nightfall. Then they could go forth, and begin conquering the rest of this star system, carrying out their duty to the Empire.

"By-your-command."

_----------_

"Captain Dorado, Commander Cain coming in on the communicator. Fleet Commline Alpha."

"Stand by," Dorado nodded. He wasn't looking forward to having a strip torn off him by his former commanding officer, but he'd survived much worse in his career. Cain wouldn't be pleased when he found out that Dorado did . . . what he was about to do. He glanced back at Coxcoxtli, manning the Clavis' control system. "Are you ready?"

The computer expert's eyes flickered over the controls briefly. "Yes, sir."

"Alright." Then Dorado paused, sniffing in sudden misplaced amusement as he glanced at the bright faced youngsters around him. "What exactly are you supposed to _say_ to send your men from one dimension to another?"

They all looked back at him way too seriously, making him wish someone from his own vintage was in the Control Centre.

Then Porter, from a slightly _older_ vintage, snickered from behind. "You say, 'energize', Captain."

"Commander Cain is still standing by, sir," Pierus reminded him.

"I'm aware of that, Pierus," Dorado replied, then nodded. He jabbed a finger into the air for good measure. "Energize, Coxcoxtli."

"Sir," he responded, hitting a series of controls that would send the Hybrid fighter into the unknown, far beyond their suddenly crude scanners. Lights went green, all across the board.

Dorado moved to the comm. "Commander Cain . . ."

"Catch you in the turbo flush, Captain?" Cain demanded with a frown. "Where's Commander Dayton?"

"Off the ship at present, Commander. He personally led the landing party to recover Captain Starbuck, sir."

"Oh, he _did_, did he?" Cain muttered, abruptly glancing over his shoulder distractedly. "Who let that damn daggit onto the Bridge? _Sheba_!" He shook his head, and then looked back. "Where's Colonel Apollo?"

"He was assigned to the team, as well, sir."

"Leaving _you_ in command?" Cain asked.

"Yes, sir," Dorado nodded to his former CO. From the tone of his voice, it was plain that Cain had about as much confidence in Dorado's command abilities as he did in one of Starbuck's vaunted 'systems'. "I am at present."

Cain nodded grimly. "Then you can tell me, what in Hades Hole did we just pick up on our sensors coming from the _Endeavour_? It lit up the panel like a cheap chancery!"

"We recovered a device on a nearby planet that we believe can transport a ship interdimensionally," Dorado explained. "To the dimension that Commander Dayton and Colonel Apollo are already in. Sir."

"And how did _they_ get there?"

"Councilwoman Ama was able to transport them there, sir."

"By all the Lords, how?" Clearly, Cain wasn't liking the way this conversation was going.

"I don't really _know_, Commander. The scientific explanation was a bit . . . lacking."

Cain blinked, pausing a long moment. "And?"

"That energy wavelon you detected was our first manned test of the device."

Cain raised his eyebrows. "Which you launched just before we came into range, knowing the _Pegasus_ was on the way?"

"You always taught me not to waste time vacillating, Commander," Dorado replied. "Especially when there are lives at stake."

"Did I?" Cain countered.

"Yes, sir. At the very first debriefing you conducted, following my assignment to the _Pegasus, _and my first mission as a cadet, along with my trainee squadron."

"Well," said Cain, slowly raising an eyebrow, and twirling his stick. Clearly this had been too much information. "Then, perhaps, you can succinctly tell me which landing bay to land in when I come over there to strip and module you."

"Beta Bay, Commander."

"Cain out."

_"__Ouch,__"_whispered Coxcoxtli.

Dorado looked at him and smiled. "Don't worry, he grows on you."

----------

Normally, riding something like this mine cart would be fun. Instead, Starbuck's head was throbbing, his stomach was reeling, and he had come close to passing out cold on a couple occasions when he was sure that the cart had lost contact with the track before plunging around a corner, or over a sharp declivity. He willed himself to keep his eyes open and his stomach muscles clenched, so he wouldn't disgrace himself by vomiting all over himself and his commanding officer.

Then again, Dayton certainly deserved to be wearing his stomach contents after knocking him out cold. To add to Starbuck's annoyance, the commander seemed to be enjoying this, whooping in exhilaration at the same hairpin turns that made Starbuck want to die. The Earthling didn't seem to have the same code of conduct that would prevent Commander Adama, Colonel Tigh, or even Apollo from bashing a subordinate officer. However, it could just be Dayton. Starbuck couldn't imagine Ryan or the others doing the same. No, there was a mean streak that ran through Dayton that made him unpredictable and dangerous. Thirty yahrens digging asteroid fungus could do that to a guy, he supposed.

It was a damn good thing they were on the same side.

A glimpse of light ahead of them gave Starbuck some hope that this raging ride was about to end. _Not much further_ . . . he promised himself. Then he would have Eirys wrap her enchanting arms around him, to give him some relief. Not that he was sure she had Ama's ability to seemingly erase misery when the mood struck her, but Starbuck was certainly willing to give it the old Academy try.

"Almost there, _Peely Wally_!" Dayton hollered in his ear, past the rushing wind.

Then a sudden explosion ahead of them threw up a cloud of dust that obliterated their view. Starbuck barely had time to brace himself before the cart tore free of its tracks, careening on an unknown course, and then slammed into a barrier, pitching them through the air.

The last thing he heard as darkness descended over a haze of pain, was a familiar, but terrifying drone that could only be _Cylon_.


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Starbuck groaned as he was rudely awakened by some astrum-wipe gripping him by the hair, and jerking his head upward. Instinctively, he reached for that particular piece of scalp that was being ripped off his head, at the same time as he reached for his weapon.

His laser was gone.

"He-is-conscious."

That incessant drone of Cylons penetrated the haze of pain that had enveloped him, as his head was released and he crumpled back to the ground. He was in a world of hurt, everything aching, burning, or throbbing, from his head right down to his feet. He could see the mine cart crashed into a pile of debris almost ten metrons away. Presumably, he had been thrown over here by the momentum, which actually explained a lot. Yeah, it was all coming back to him. The mine cart. An explosion. Cylons.

_Dayton?_

He jerked upright, glancing around, first taking in the patrol of six Cylons that surrounded him, before noticing Dayton lying prone only a metron away, unmoving. He couldn't tell if his friend was alive or not. The Cylons seemed to be distracted, talking about their appearances, and trying to ascertain their identities, when the entire Angylion nation had not long before been disfigured little trolls. Starbuck only had a few microns to act during their inaction. Scrambling quickly towards the Earthling, he ignored the increasing dizziness that tried to defeat him. He would only get one chance.

"Halt!"

"Dayton!" Starbuck reached him, his fingers automatically searching for a pulse and a weapon even as he quickly confirmed the Cylons had already disarmed the man. With a bit of effort, he disregarded the Cylons moving in on him, holding his breath, before feeling the steady, reassuring throb beneath his fingers. By rote, he began checking the commander for any serious injuries . . . like the jagged cut across his temple. Dayton groaned. "Come on, Old Man. Java break is over."

Then a Cylon blade was at his throat.

"Halt! Submit-Human."

"Hey now, easy there," Starbuck murmured, sitting back on his haunches with his hands held up as the blade nicked his skin. Again, vertigo made his head whirl. He closed his eyes briefly, willing his vision to be clear when he opened them again. "Let's not do anything_ I'll _regret later . . ."

"You-are-a-prisoner-of-the-Cylon-Alliance. You-will-obey-our-demands, or-die." The centurion paused for a moment, and then pulled back the blade, sheathing it.

Dayton was stirring, his eyes blinking as he tried to focus them. He frowned as he reached for his empty holster. "You okay, kid?"

"Silence!"

"_Me_?" Starbuck asked, his hands still raised. "You're the one kissing the ground with blood running down your face, Dayton."

Dayton glanced over at him, taking in the tattered uniform and the many contusions. "You look like you went through a shredder."

"I _feel_ . . ."

The abrupt shock then outrage on Dayton's face should have warned him, but Starbuck moved too slowly as he feinted to the right. A powerful, blunt jab in his shoulder sent him sprawling face down. It was the butt of a Cylon Pulse Rifle. He could hear a sword being unsheathed again, and instinctively knew . . . He leapt out of the way, as a Cylon blade cleaved the ground beside him, barely missing him. Sparks flew from where the blade had struck rock.

"Hey!" Dayton roared, pushing himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head determinedly, as droplets of blood flew from his face.

"Silence!" Another centurion gripped the Earthman by the throat from behind, jerking him to his knees, and neutralizing him. "Comply-or-you-will-be-terminated."

Somehow, Starbuck gained his feet, pivoting to find the centurion advancing on him, its sword raised. Evidently, these centurions had even less of a sense of humour than the ones in his own dimension. They also seemed to be awfully fond of their swords, not even bothering to pull their rifles in this instance. Most likely, they were conserving ergons. He looked around desperately, trying to find something to defend himself with. Then he saw it. He raced the few remaining metrons to the wrecked mine cart, jerking at the old hand brake. It didn't budge. He put a foot against the cart, and pulled again, pushing himself to the limit as he heard the metal strain. Teeth bared, he grunted in exertion. The damn Cylon was practically droning down his neck.

"_Come_ . . . _on _. . ." he grunted, feeling the sweat pour off of him.

"_Move it_!" Dayton choked out a warning.

It broke free.

Starbuck turned, quickly putting some distance between him and the Cylon, and brandishing the brake handle like an old-fashioned quarterstaff, even as he eyed the other five centurions who were watching. Weird. He'd never fought a Cylon before an audience, before. Apparently, he was going to be made an example of. He tightened his grip, feeling the adrenaline rush through him, wishing there was an "extended release" version when it made the throbbing in his head even worse.

"Hey! Your commander is going to want us alive!" Dayton shouted hoarsely, pulling at the unforgiving metallic arm, struggling to free himself. "Or are you too stupid to figure that out, _Hot Wax_?"

"One-prisoner-will-be-adequate."

"Yes, but _which_ one has the information your commander wants?" countered Dayton. "Huh? How's he gonna like it if you kill the wrong one, and he doesn't get what he wants?" Silence. It was clear that the centurions were unprepared for such a puzzle.

However, without an order to do otherwise, the Cylon advanced on Starbuck, its sword looming menacingly in front of it. Instead of retreating, the Colonial Warrior rushed forward, counting on his own reflexes being better than the centurion's, even in his current condition. Veering to the right, he nimbly dodged the first strike, and knocked it aside with the improvised staff. Then using his momentum, he drove the bar between the centurions's legs. Not known for either balance or grace, the Cylon tripped, and crumpled to the ground, its sword skittering across the stones. Starbuck leapt after it, bending over to collect the sword . . . and almost tossing his mushies at the abrupt pounding in his skull as the blood rushed to his head. He gasped, dropping to one knee as the cavern started rotating around him. The staff clattered on the rocks beneath him as it slipped through suddenly clumsy fingertips.

"_Get up_!" Dayton ordered, his voice reverberating around the cavern.

Instead, Starbuck landed on his astrum, closing his eyes, as he willed the world to level itself. Now would be a really good time for Apollo to show up, like the "ca-val-ree" in Dayton's movies, even if it was just to ream him out for being late . . . as usual. However, the odds of that were . . . he didn't even want to think about it. Shaking off the dizziness, and wrapping his hands tightly around the hilt of the sword, he tried to steady himself. He planted the tip of the sword in the dirt and leaned on it heavily, raising himself on one knee. It was pathetic how much effort it took, and he blinked as the blade in front of his eyes blurred around the edges. The damn droning of the centurions seemed to be coming from all around him, disorienting him.

"_Kid_! _Behind you_!"

Instinctively, Starbuck swivelled around, and holding the grip with both hands, he cut horizontally, as he spotted the Cylon ready to begin a deadly downward strike. His blade caught the centurion at the gap of the knee joint, slicing right through, and taking the Cylon's leg off. Sparks flew as the centurion buckled on that side, collapsing.

"_Nice_!" Dayton roared, then abruptly gurgled as the Cylon securing him tightened its grip.

"Silence!"

The Earthman's eyes widened, as he pulled ineffectually at the centurion's arm, his mouth open and gasping for a breath. His body arched reflexively, as he struggled against the mechanical restraining limb, fighting to breathe.

"Let him go!" Starbuck yelled, lurching forward to grab the pulse rifle that the downed centurion carried, even as he discarded the sword. As his hand gripped the butt of the weapon, the ground beside him exploded, tearing up rock and dirt that pelted him mercilessly. He rolled to the opposite side, gripping the rifle determinedly as he ended up prone, lining up the patrol leader in his sight. _Frack_ . . .

"Surrender-or-he-will-die! Drop-the-weapon!"

The Cylon patrol leader was pointing its rifle at Dayton's head. The Earthman was still secured in the other centurion's tylinium grip, while the leader's weapon threatened to blow his head off. Dayton's grey eyes bored into Starbuck's, and he shook his head the barest amount the restraining grip would allow, as his lips snarled back over his gritted teeth.

"Don't!" the commander forced out.

Two centurions were down, of those, only one was out of commission. The other four were either threatening Dayton, or now pointing their weapons at Starbuck. A quick glance around revealed he was out of options. He met his commander's eyes, wincing imperceptibly at the fury within them. It was another "crazed Dayton" moment, but Starbuck just wasn't willing to sacrifice both of their lives to go out in a blaze of stupidity.

Uh . . . _glory_.

Letting out a breath of disgust, Starbuck dropped the rifle, pushing it aside. He raised his hands in surrender, letting them rest on the back of his head as he stayed face down on the ground.

"_Damn it_, Starbuck!" Dayton cursed, his breathing easy as the centurion relaxed its grip, although the pulse rifle against his temple remained.

"Yeah, I should have had them," Starbuck returned sarcastically. "All _five_ of them."

He tried to control the anxiety that was rising with each forward step of the two centurions coming to seize him. After all, a moment before they had decided to kill him. Were they now going to finish the job, or take both him and Dayton prisoner? They stopped either side of him, then leaned down to grip his arms, and abruptly he was airborne as they jerked him to his feet as if he was as light as a child.

"_Ohhh_ . . ." he groaned, as the abrupt movement made his head spin and his stomach heave. His knees buckled, and for a long moment he hung suspended between them, making him realize just how helpless he was. Then they dropped him to his knees, one of them grasping him by the hair, and jerking his head upward as the other pulled his sword.

"Your-time-is-at-an-end."

They were going to behead him!

"_NO_!" Dayton screamed, lurching forward, and almost escaping the Cylon's grip before he was jerked roughly back into place. He fought like a maniac, lunging against the centurion's hold, until the butt of the rifle crashing into his gut left him wheezing for air. "Pick on someone your own size, you tin-plated hunk of junk!"

"Silence!"

Starbuck sucked in a ragged breath, flinching as he felt the cold metal of the blade touch the back of his neck, as the Cylon lined up his blow. Lords, it was almost his undoing! The desire to scream for mercy, to cry at the injustice, to try and run for his life almost consumed him, until he again met Dayton's eyes. Something in those flint grey depths calmed him, and gave him the strength and courage to quell his rising terror. He held the gaze like a lifeline, clinging in desperation to the invisible bond he had with this man that was friend, mentor, surrogate father, and commander to him. Starbuck's pounding heart rate slowed and his head began to clear. Maybe it was because he didn't want Dayton to think less of him when he watched him die, or maybe it was something more significant that he couldn't explain. Regardless, Starbuck found the courage to dampen down his fear, and die with honour.

Hey, it was better than soiling his pants.

He could hear the Cylon shift, pulling back his blade to strike. It was mind boggling that his time was at an end. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, but one prevailed.

"Dayton, if you see Lu again," he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, refusing to lose control, "tell her . . ." His voice was hoarse as he sucked in another breath, and focussed on his friend again. "Tell her I love her."

Dayton nodded soberly once, then seemed to startle, as though he had suddenly realized something. Abruptly, he shouted out, "Hey! Don't you know who've you got here!" Again, he fought helplessly against the Cylon's grip, as if his struggle could somehow drive his words home. "That's Prince Llewelyn! Heir to the throne of Morlais! Your commander will melt you down for spare parts if you kill _him_!"

The Cylon leader merely gestured with one hand towards Starbuck, ignoring Dayton.

Starbuck held his breath, watching the Earthman intently, willing him to help him through this final test. Then the Earthman let out an animalistic roar and his face twisted with an emotional agony that Starbuck had only seen twice before. Once when Dickins had disappeared with the Earth shuttle, and again when Ryan had been shot. It was unnerving, to see his own fear and desperation reflected back at him, but the remorse and suffering that cut right through him were genuinely unbearable, shattering his defences. Starbuck closed his eyes as he awaited his fate, drawing a ragged breath that would be his last. Behind him, he could almost hear the Cylon blade splitting the air as it rushed towards his neck.

----------

"What did I tell you?" Luana said over her shoulder to Baltar as he stood behind the pilot's seat, looking out over the bleak expanses of the landscape below them. In the rear of the Cylon shuttle, the Angylions were planning their battle against the Base Ship. "We've been integrating our technology with Cylon machinery ever since we commandeered the _Abaddon_ Base Ship. Flying this old crate is almost like being home."

"Home," Baltar sniffed. The word brought back memories of Piscon. Memories that he just as quickly pushed out of his mind, lest images of smouldering, blackened ruins, devastation and death superimpose themselves on his mind. "Are you speaking of the _Endeavour_, Ensign?"

"I suppose," she answered with a shrug. "She's our home now." She glanced over at Lia. "Wouldn't you say?"

Lia nodded. "Home is where our people are." An alarm sounded from the scanner array, and she quickly checked the Cylon control panel. "It's a Raider!"

"Oh, great!" Lu replied. "Are they on to us?"

"I'm not sure. Don't seem to be," Lia murmured tensely, as Dietra joined them. "What I want to know is where it came from. The scanner was clear a micron ago."

"Are you sure?" Dietra asked.

"I swear," Lia returned. "I've barely blinked since we launched, and I was even on forward scan when it showed up."

"Interesting," Baltar commented. Raiders didn't generally drop out of nowhere, and there certainly weren't any nearby mountains to rationalize away their failure to detect it. "Scan it for life forms."

"Life forms? Why?" Lu asked.

"Do it, Lia," Dietra added briskly, nodding at Baltar.

"Scanning . . ." Lia replied. The scanner image before her snowy and unclear. "I'm getting some kind of interference . . . source unknown."

Baltar frowned, nonplussed. He had nothing to compare it to. How did the Cylon scanners normally function here in Morlais? Was there some kind of natural phenomenon that blocked their wavelons?

"Are you sure?" Dietra asked, leaning forward and checking herself.

"They're diving! Frack! They're coming up behind us," Lia remarked anxiously, watching the progress of the much faster and more manoeuvrable fighter "_They're_ scanning _us_."

"Scanning us?" cried Dee.

"Yes."

"Evasive manoeuvres!" Luana cried, banking to the right before diving for cloud cover, while wishing that Ama could spare a lightning bolt for them.

----------

Cain paced across Dayton's office one more time, his swagger stick balanced in his right hand as he ranted. The Juggernaut was looking better than he had in sectars, having put some weight back on, and getting a healthy glow to his once-pallid complexion. His voice was almost the same, as well, no longer the thin, at times weak, parody of Cain's. So, in a way, it was almost gratifying to be reprimanded by him, Dorado decided.

" . . . _one_ fighter into an unknown, potentially hostile situation! What's one fighter going to do?" Cain continued his litany.

_Almost._

"Assess the situation and report back to us," Dorado replied. "Baker, Jolly and Malus were assigned, all good men. In fact, they volunteered for this mission . . ."

Cain quickly held up a hand briskly, cutting off his words. "Captain! The Cylon is _not_ . . .I repeat, _not_ . . . a man."

"You're right, of course, sir," Dorado nodded, feeling silly for saying so, but Cain had a deep-rooted hatred and distrust for the IL, despite what Malus' technological savvy had meant to both Cain and Dorado, giving them both a second chance at futures that, under present circumstances, would have been otherwise bleak following their injuries on separate occasions. In Dorado's case, a sectar before he would have never imagined he would be commanding the _Endeavour_ in Dayton's stead. In fact, if it hadn't been for the support of his fellow warriors and friends, he might not have had the courage to take this assignment. Indeed, he might still be vegetating, and wallowing in his own despair, had they not reached out to him. Although as far back as a day or two after Dorado's accident on Planet P, Starbuck had as much as promised him a position aboard the _Endeavour_, and then had manoeuvred and manipulated his way to making it happen.

Cain blinked at him, his eyes narrowing. "Are you humouring me, mister?"

"No, sir," Dorado replied, trying not to feel like a new cadet in serious trouble, in front of the Living Legend, again. "I made a decision based on the information then at hand."

"You could have waited five centons. That's _all_ it would have taken."

"I felt confident that Commander Dayton would support my decision, Commander Cain."

Cain sniffed, frowning as the comm interrupted their discussion.

"Excuse me, Commander," Dorado said, leaning over to open the line. "Go ahead, Pierus."

"Captain Sheba on the _Pegasus_ wishing to speak with you and Commander Cain, Captain."

"Put her through," Dorado nodded, waiting as Sheba's image abruptly appeared. "Go ahead, Captain."

"We have a problem, Dorado," Sheba frowned, her brown eyes flashing angrily. "I need you to search the _Endeavour_ for a stowaway."

Cain blew out a breath of disgust, sweeping a hand through his hair as he groaned aloud in frustration. "I _don't_ believe it . . ."

"A stowaway?" Dorado asked, looking from father to daughter. Lords, if it wasn't devastated planets, weird alien artefacts, and "witches" with weird powers, _now _what? A stowaway?

"Boxey is missing."

Dorado sniffed in astonishment, turning to Cain. "You brought a _child_?"

----------

"They're right on our tail! I can't shake them!" Lu told them. The cloud cover hadn't done anything to dissuade the pursuing Cylons, such as scramble their scanners, in the least.

The comm panel began beeping loudly.

"Incoming message in Cylon code!" Lia cried. "From the Raider!"

"Cylon _code_?" Baltar glanced over her shoulder, holding tight to the back of her seat with both hands. "Can you translate it?"

"I doubt these Cylons would be using the same code that modern . . ." Lia paused, watching the algorithms cross the screen. "By Triquetra's Toenails . . ." she murmured.

"Huh?" Lu glanced at her sister, shaking her head slightly. Never one for cursing, putting "Triquetra" and her toenails together was pretty risqué by Lia's standards.

"It's the _same_ code," Lia muttered in surprise, then a smile lit her features. "Oh yes! Sagan's Sandals, it's _Jolly_!"

Dietra grinned. "I knew it! It's one of ours! It's a Hybrid!"

"How did you know?" Baltar asked.

"It jammed our scanners, just like it's supposed to," Dietra returned enthusiastically. "And we were none the wiser, not expecting it. Transmit a message back to them. Have them follow us to rendezvous with the others."

"Yes, Lieutenant," Lia replied, doing just that.

"And then ask them how they got here," Lu added.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

----------

Apollo grinned, and clapped Jolly on the shoulder as the lieutenant climbed down from the Hybrid Raider. "You don't know how glad I am to see you!"

"We thought you might need some help, Skipper," Jolly replied, then winced. "Sorry, _Colonel_."

"That's all right, Jolly." Apollo shrugged indifferently. He looked up at the one-time enemy fighter. "But how did you get here?"

"I think I'll let Malus explain," Jolly returned, as the IL's lower limbs became visible descending the fighter's ladder. The pilot turned to see Lia, Luana, Dietra, and what he had just learned were Angylions, heading towards them from the Cylon transport. Then he froze when he saw Baltar talking with an Angylion that could have been his younger brother, so alike were they in appearance, save the translucent aura that surrounded the other Being. "What the . . ." Instinctively he reached for his weapon, glancing in surprise at Apollo when the colonel stayed his hand. "What? B . . . Baltar?"

"Believe it or not, he seems to be on _our_ side this time around . . ." Apollo told him softly, slowly removing his restraining hand. "He even took out a fighter, single-handed."

"Ours or theirs?" Jolly returned.

Apollo smirked. "Theirs, of course."

"Lords, did the entire universe just shift under me?" asked the other man, slack-jawed, still looking at the traitor. He slowly let his weapon slide back into its holster.

"It sure did. And the Angylions have a fervent belief that he is one of our military heroes, delivered by their gods to aide them."

Jolly scoffed derisively. "Oh? Let me guess where they got that idea?"

"It doesn't matter, Jolly. We're watching him . . . carefully."

"We _must_ be in a different dimension," Jolly shook his head, then startled when he saw a man that could be Apollo's double, but with the same ethereal glow surrounding him. "Holy frack . . ." he murmured, when another man, this one a dead ringer for Starbuck, but with the same strange quality came into view. The blond Angylion smiled cheerily, waving jauntily as though he was enjoying Jolly's surprise. The Apollo look-alike casually cuffed him. "Looks like we all have some catching up to do."

"That we do."

----------

"_NOOOOO_!" Dayton screamed as torchlight reflected off the blade that arced through the air, ready to execute Starbuck.

He could see the young man's shoulders hunched in preparation, his face contorted in expectation, his eyes tightly shut, every muscle in his body tensed for the inevitable strike. Then abruptly, the blade stopped its deadly coarse, ending its lethal blow at the precise moment that the sword touched the nape of Starbuck's neck. Dayton sucked in a breath, holding it, not sure if the Cylons were merely toying with them before they finished it—something he hadn't thought them capable of—or if something else was happening . . . He looked around, trying to figure it out in his frenzied state.

The patrol leader was holding up a hand, and had said something that just didn't register with Dayton, as his own screams still echoed in his head. Then the executioner, without even looking at the Command centurion, sheathed its sword, and the other Cylon released its grip on Starbuck's hair.

"Holy . . . fr-frack . . ." Starbuck rasped, his eyes fluttering open and then darting around wildly. He let out a ragged breath, and then slumped forward onto the ground limply.

"_Kid_ . . ." Dayton lunged forward, almost surprised when this time the Cylon released him as well. He half-crawled over to where the young captain lay, putting a hand to the back of his neck, and pulling it away slick with blood. The wound was superficial, but it still scared the hell out of the Earthman, considering the situation. He put a hand on the kid's shoulder, feeling fine tremors besiege the young man, as he gazed sightlessly ahead of him, his cheek pressed against the cold stone and dirt. He was either in shock, or well on his way. "You're okay. You got that? You're just fine." _Who are you trying to convince, Dayton? The kid? Or yourself?_

Starbuck snorted in contention, his breathing still ragged. "If this is _okay_ . . ." He blinked slowly, his gaze flickering reluctantly over to the Cylons. Then he shuddered involuntarily, and glanced back at Dayton. "I'd hate to see what a bad day on Earth looks like."

"Still a smart-ass, huh? Well, that can only be a good sign," Dayton returned, squeezing his shoulder. It was a reprieve, but at least it gave them time.

"Bring-them," the patrol leader ordered. "Commander-Mendax-will-want-to-interrogate-the-Angylion-prince-personally."

----------

Iblis curled a derisive lip, glancing around the Holy Angylion Sanctum before slowly returning his malignant gaze to Ama. "This is part of the Elders' plan, isn't it? That instead of interfering, I will be distracted by my own . . . whelp." Then he smiled corrosively. "Or is this a _threat_? Am I expected to disappear quietly, once again?" This time he looked upward, addressing his comments beyond the cavern. "Exiled to another barren hunk of rock that befits the punishment of my _alleged_ crimes? For my _disobedience_? For my unwillingness to conform?" His voice rose in volume and intensity, shaking the cavern, bitterness bleeding from his accusations. "Knowing that if I don't comply, that my . . . my blood will be at your mercy!"

"I believe you are judging them from your own standards," Ama replied hesitantly, as doubt nipped at her while she bore witness to his passion. All that she truly knew of the Beings of Light was through her own interactions with them, yet Iblis' insinuations defied what she had learned, and believed to be truth. "Such as they are."

Iblis smiled mockingly. "But you aren't certain, are you, _daughter_?"

"You destroyed an entire civilization of Angylions, enslaving them as Odreds, as well as brought the Cylons here, situating them to dominate yet _another_ dimension, as if the billions already enslaved or slaughtered in their own were not sufficient." Ama returned, her own bitterness rising. "Or had that slipped your mind?"

Iblis smiled, his blue eyes eerily devoid of emotion. "Your point? Whelp."

"What happened to you, Arion?" Ama whispered. "What happened to the man that my mother loved, and the Empyrean Court revered?"

"I was betrayed by your mother . . ." Iblis returned, smiling humourlessly. "Just as the Elders would have _you_ betray me now."

"And how would I do that?" she spat back, almost before she meant to, and the cold knot in her stomach answered her before he did. "I owe you no allegiance."

"You are still my daughter. My blood. My get! Have they not sent you here to challenge me? Such irony that your existence was kept from me, only so they could prepare you to destroy me, knowing I would either fall, or face my own personal Hades Hole through killing my child. And they call _me_ the evil one." Iblis smiled, his tone and mien suggestive of someone having a polite everyday conversation.

"From what I've heard, you do wear the crown," Ama returned.

"Do you realize that other than the Elders, you were the only one capable of reversing the Angylion Curse? The only one with powers that could possibly match my own. They knew that. Did _you_?"

"I figured it out, eventually," she returned. So much had filtered through her mind while she was intent on helping Starbuck, that now she was unsure of how much was suggested to her by the Beings of Light, and how much she had deduced on her own. However, his stunned reaction to her raised more questions than it answered. Had she even given herself time to reflect on how this anomalous family reunion would go? Hadn't she just assumed that Iblis would arrive unleashing his powers against Morlais and the Angylion people, and she would respond by defending them to the best of her abilities? "Why did you decide to destroy these people, Arion?" Strong, beautiful, spiritual, yet mighty warriors. "More than any other that I have encountered in the universe, they are so much like my own . . .my own Empyreans."

Then Iblis sniffed, curling a disdainful lip. "_That_ . . . is why."

She quirked an eyebrow, holding her hands palm upward. "Let me see."

Iblis took a step closer to her, letting out a bitter laugh. "You wish to join with me, mind and spirit, and experience my life, as you do with your human _pets_?"

"I do," Ama nodded, ignoring the gibe as her desire to see the truth outweighed any trepidation or concern for her own safety.

"It's a dark journey from which you may not return," Iblis warned her, taking a step back and holding up a staying hand.

"I'll take my chances_,"_ Ama returned, taking a pace closer to him and lifting up her hands so they rested on his temples. "Don't fash yourself, it won't hurt . . ."

His eyes met hers in surprise, then mild amusement, as she titled her head forward to meet his own . . .

----------

Apollo paced as he digested all the information he'd been given from the Angylions, Baltar, and Malus. Starbuck and Dayton, now Cylon prisoners, had been spotted boarding a Cylon troop transport under duress. The Angylion scouts that had reported the intelligence, had almost intervened, until they realized how well armed the Cylons were. Before they could get into a position to attack, the craft had taken off.

"Our forces have almost retaken the city," Glynn reported, nodding at Eirys who seemed to act as a communications conduit between her people. "The Cylons are retreating towards their ship, consolidating their forces."

"We need to strike now!" Llewelyn inserted ardently. "While we still have the advantage!"

"Now wait just a centon!" Apollo replied, holding up a hand to caution him. "A Cylon Base Ship is usually armed with enough artillery to easily destroy an army of a thousand Angylions with a single shot. They can burn up whole cities from orbit with single salvos. If you attack it with nothing but shields to protect you, they would decimate your forces."

"Artillery?" Glynn asked.

"On an _Abaddon_ Base Ship, there are five batteries evenly spaced on the upper hull, as well as the lower, for a total of ten." Malus informed them, as the Angylions considered him curiously. "Two missile tubes flank each of these. There is also a mega-pulsar battery at the apex, as well as thirty defensive anti-aircraft emplacements. At present, only those weapons on the upper hull can be brought to bear against a target, until the ship lifts off." A Cylon like Mendax, the Base Ship commander, the similarities between the two IL's left the Angylions politely distrustful and sceptical of his intentions. "The hull is two point eight metrons thick. As well, there is an electromagnetic defence shield that would render it impenetrable to Colonial side arms, and certainly to Angylion weapons." Trying out a newly adapted invention of his own, he ignited the laser he had engineered into one of his digits, and then etched a diagram of the enemy vessel on a rock face, pointing out the batteries in question. None of the assembled organic Beings looked impressed, or even commented upon it, but he knew that Starbuck would see its potential . . . the first time he needed to light a fumarello and was without his trusty Flintex. Several of the Angylions leaned close, studying it. "As you can see, gentlemen, ladies, the overlapping fields of fire make any ground assault by an enemy impossible, either infantry, or mounted. Her weapons would target and vaporize any one or thing before you came within a thousand metrons, at a minimum."

"She also carries several hundred centurions, which can be detached from flight operations for ground action," added Baltar, sneaking another surreptitious glance at the enchanting Eirys as he spoke. She smiled and nodded at him. "Assuming they are close to full strength, this class of ship could field at least five hundred centurions, both in armoured transports and infantry, all heavily armed. Set against what we possess right now, she is impenetrable."

"Their troops are no longer at full strength, "General Caradoc reported. "We have killed close to one hundred of their centurions."

Baltar nodded approvingly. "Good to know."

"Then how do we destroy it?" Caradoc asked.

"From the inside," Baltar returned, glancing at Luana. "And while we're there, we might as well save Starbuck."

"_And_ Mark . . ." Cassiopeia inserted, putting a hand on Ryan's arm.

"How?" Lu asked, her features drawn. Others echoed her doubts. "If the Base Ship is as impenetrable as you both said, then how do we get aboard?"

"I believe I can answer that. After all, it's about time that Cylon Command checked up on its missing _Abaddon_," Malus replied, glancing at Baltar. "I have a plan, Baltar, and I believe you will be intrinsic to its success."

"_Baltar_?" Apollo asked, hearing the same stunned reaction from others.

"Yes, _Baltar_," Malus replied.

---------

Things were not going quite to plan.

When the Cylons had first attacked Morlais, the Angylions had responded by using a typical counterassault that concentrated the majority of their forces directly against the Cylon forces, two armies clashing together on a battlefield below Mt. Cadoc. Ultimately, the centurions with their superior weaponry, laser pulse rifles, rocket launchers, and poisonous gas, would have eventually prevailed, but when the entire race of organic Beings had suddenly turned into deformed dwarfs, their defeat was without recourse.

Since their transformation back into their original forms—which Mendax had concluded was almost identical to Humans in his realm—they used a different strategy, one that the Cylons were not familiar with. Small-scale forces moving quickly and silently had unexpectedly attacked Cylon strongholds in the former Angylion city that had, up until recently, been Mendax's base of operations. A few unsubstantial uprisings had earlier been squashed, but this time their offences had systematically attacked and destroyed his posted patrols, and then seemingly disappeared, only to regroup and destroy yet another patrol sent to investigate the conspicuous communications silence of the first. At last report, in the city the Angylions had destroyed nearly one-fifth of his entire complement of centurions, almost a hundred centurions, and the rest had been ordered back to the Base Ship.

The IL had ascertained that his missing patrol and shuttlecraft were victims of an Angylion assault. Yet, since Angylions didn't know a shuttle from a landram, it mattered little . . . although in retrospect, every transport would be an asset in his new quest for Cylon domination in this dimension. He might have to consider sending a crew to recover it once he had fully annihilated the Angylions. But first he would see the Angylion prince cede to his superiority and beg for his mercy . . . before he executed him, of course.

"Control Centre," Mendax spoke into his comm unit. "This is Commander Mendax." Of course, he had no _need _to say so, but reminding these . . . _drones _of who was in charge was just so . . . satisfying. After all, he would likely end up as the supreme commander in this dimension, once he successfully carried out his plan for domination. He was so close. "Are the prisoners aboard?"

"_The-transport-carrying-the-Angylion-prisoners-just-landed-in-Gamma-Bay, Commander_."

"Have them brought to the Brig," Mendax ordered. "And prepare the Brain Probe." A centar in the device, and Mendax would have the entire Angylion attack strategy at his fingertips. It would be interesting to see the emotive reaction of the prince when he realized he had just sealed his people's fate, by unwillingly betraying their war secrets.

"_By-your-command_."

"Engineering will be switching over to the auxiliary power units shortly. They will also be beginning power up of the main reactors in approximately sixty centons. Prepare to begin the countdown on my order."

_"__By-your-command.__"_

_---------_

Starbuck could feel his chest tightening as he and Dayton were escorted through the Cylon ship, every step taking them closer to the inevitable interrogation. He was just about at his limit, between his physical injuries and his exhaustion. It wasn't exactly the best condition to show up in, or so some instructor had once told him at the Academy. He wiped a trail of sweat from his forehead, catching Dayton's eyes on his in concern.

"Okay?" the Earthman murmured quietly.

Starbuck merely nodded, looking around at his surrounding, and trying to equate this ship's layout with the _Endeavour_'s, to get his mind off his throbbing head and aching body. Functionality wise, little had changed between the era when this ship and the _Endeavour_ were built, and that of Baltar's, other than the fact that the_ Hades_-class ships were twice the size of the _Abaddon'_s. Some things just didn't need improvement, he decided. Upon approaching the enemy vessel, they had seen the huge steel pylons that supported the ship, and the forges and machinery surrounding it, all working towards its repair and return to space. From what he could tell, the Cylons were close to being able to launch.

He and Dayton were led down a dimly-lit corridor, some of the bulkhead plating stripped out for other uses, and then they were propelled into the holding cell where the Cylon Brain Probe was housed. Thoroughly outfitted with restraints for arms and legs, and a ring of probes that lowered over the subject's cranium, this was an older and cruder variation of the one that had been used on Cree back on Arcta. It placed the subject in a chair, rather than standing, but it otherwise looked identical to the one from the _Endeavour_ that they had employed with Baltar. He sniffed humourlessly, realizing that somewhere out there Baltar would be laughing himself maniacal if he knew that Starbuck was about to undergo the same Cylon interrogation device. The difference being that the Cylons, thinking he was Prince Llewelyn, would be trying to extract information that the Colonial Warrior didn't even have. Weirdly, they hadn't noticed the obvious difference between Angylions and humans, as though they couldn't even see the aura that seemed to surround the ethereal looking Beings. Obviously, things mystical were beyond them in every sense, which was okay with him, since every moment that they prolonged this ruse, gave them another opportunity to escape, and do this Base Ship some potential damage.

"Sort of looks like 'Old Sparky'," Dayton murmured beside him, studying the device as he looked around the room. Starbuck looked at him, frowning. "An electric chair." The Earthman studied the probe machinery up close. "Wasn't there one of those on the _Endeavour_ before the refit?"

"Uh huh," Starbuck nodded. "Commander Adama ordered it destroyed, although I could tell he was tempted to try it out on a couple Council members first . . . not to mention a wayward officer or two." Then he glanced at the Earthman. "What's an electric chair?"

Dayton winced. "Never mind."

"Silence!" a centurion ordered them.

"Or what?" Starbuck replied. "You'll torture me in a Cylon Brain Probe? I've been trained to resis . . ."

"_Silence_!"

Behind them the hatch opened, and an IL Series Cylon entered, a garish cloak over its shoulders like Lucifer had worn. It was curious to see, considering Malus refused to wear clothing considering it to be too characteristic of humans, and unnecessary.

"Commander-Mendax, we-are-ready-to-proceed-with-the-interrogation," a centurion told him.

"Prince Llewelyn, I am Commander Mendax. Leader of the Cylon Alliance in this quadrant." Mendax nodded at the blond warrior. "You are my prisoner. You will tell me everything I want to know, or suffer the consequences."

"You've got the wrong guy," Starbuck shrugged. "I'm just a lowly foot soldier."

Mendax looked him over carefully. "I have your image imprinted into my memory banks from when I first visited Mt. Cadoc. Although your hair is slightly shorter, and your clothing different, you are definitely Prince Llewelyn."

"Am not."

The IL paused before stating, "Lying is pointless."

"Better check your programming, Bub. Cylons perfected lying. Took it to a new level," Starbuck bit off his words, not wanting to give away his cover by talking about the so-called Armistice. Then again, these Cylons probably were unaware of it, being in Morlais for a deca-yahren . . .

"Where are your forces hiding?" Mendax demanded.

"_Hiding_?" Dayton sniffed, drawing the attention to himself. "They're not hiding, Nuts and Bolts, they're _amassing_!"

"Who are you?" Mendax asked the Earthman.

"He's my manservant," Starbuck inserted quickly, before his commanding officer could get a word in edgewise. He had to protect his CO, and making him appear innocuous was the best way. Starbuck smiled slightly, starting to put together a plan.

"Manservant?" Mendax echoed, as Dayton just about choked on that revelation.

"Yes, the hereditary servant of my House. His family has served mine for generations." Starbuck nodded at Dayton, whose jaw had dropped. "They're a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, but reliable."

"Why, thank you, Oh Exalted Highness," Dayton replied, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he turned and bowed low before Starbuck.

"Don't mention it." Starbuck returned offhandedly. "Stand up, Dayton. You'll wreck your back."

"Yes, Your Illustriousness."

"I . . . _see_," said the IL thoughtfully.

"Yeah, he draws a turbo bath for me after I wake up from my ten yahren naps. Trims my hair . . . lays out my best clothes . . . " Starbuck glanced down at his tattered, filthy uniform, not even recognizable as that of a Colonial Warrior, much like Dayton's. "Although, as you can see, good help is hard to find these days."

"A personal servant," Mendax surmised. "Cylons have no need for such things."

"Well, I don't know about that," Starbuck returned, reaching forward and fingering the golden robe that the IL wore. "Looks like you could _use_ a manservant, Mendax. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in a cloak that looked like that. I'll bet your Cylon leader has an attendant or two." Beside him, Dayton drew in a sharp breath.

Lights twinkled in the IL's head. He was considering it.

"Besides, having a manservant is a sign of distinction. Of status. Prestige," Starbuck added. "Military leaders, much like Royalty, should be defined by such things, don't you agree?"

"Perhaps, I could see _some_ benefit . . ." Mendax mused.

"And you should see him with a needle and thread," Starbuck continued. "He could fix you up nicely. Couldn't you, Dayton?"

Dayton frowned at him, then reached reluctantly forward, fingering the IL's robe. "I could knit and purl this frock back to its former glory, My Liege." He glanced at Starbuck, suddenly looking tentative. "If that is your wish, oh Long-Haired One of Pre-Eminence."

Starbuck winced slightly. Dayton was laying it on a bit thick. "Well, better that than Cylon 'consequences', wouldn't you say, Old Man?" He glanced back at the IL. "He's been with me since I was a child, grooming me, turning down my bed, trimming my toenails . . . such allegiance should be repaid."

"You bargain for his life?" Mendax asked.

"I'm merely suggesting he could be more useful to you alive than dead," Starbuck replied. "Any Angylion life I can save is a personal victory."

"Please, Imperial Margarine. I would rather be dead than serve one other than you," Dayton replied beseechingly, dropping the robe, and instead gripping Starbuck's arm. _Hard_.

"You'll do as I say, Dayton," Starbuck returned, as he glanced into the flint grey eyes of his commander. If they got out of this alive, he knew that Dayton would make him pay. Probably with his hide. But it was still worth it.

"Yes, Your Oleo-ness," Dayton replied sullenly, withdrawing his hand.

Mendax undid the clasp, removing his cloak and handing it to the manservant. "Very well. I accept your manservant into_ my_ service, Prince Llewelyn. Now, tell me where your army is amassing," Mendax ordered him.

"Now, that wouldn't be very princely of me, would it?" Starbuck returned with a nervous smile.

"You can tell me willingly, or I can get the information I wish in other ways," said Mendax, indicating the probe.

"I don't suppose we could discuss this?" asked Starbuck. "You know, after a nice hot bath. A change of clothes. Dinner. Maybe over a glass of something cold afterwards? We could explore other customs of Angylion aristocracy. After all, it's been a long time since I had a decent . . ."

"Connect his cortex to the brain probe," Mendax ordered his centurions, then looked back to Starbuck. "You will be powerless to resist. I _will_ find out what I want to know."

"Wanna bet?" the warrior replied, as a centurion grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the brain probe, and then shoving him roughly into the waiting seat. Across from him he could see Dayton bristling as they restrained Starbuck, securing him to the chair. "Hey! I bruise easily!"

"Silence!" ordered one of the centurions.

"Be brave, my lord," said Dayton, his voice flat and serious. "Make your people proud. You will not be forgotten."

"Erect a bust in my honour, Dayton. Hmm, so many to chose from . . ." Starbuck mused briefly, as the probe began to lower over his head. He could only hope that having a concussion already didn't put him in any further danger. Hey, maybe it would actually get rid of his headache. Yeah, being pain free would be nice for his execution. Suddenly, he was all out of witty retorts and remarks. Cree had made it through this . . . so had Baltar. He could too. The rest was up to Dayton.

"I will examine the cortex scans when they are complete," Mendax told them.

"By-your-command." The centurion turned to his fellow. "Begin calibration."

"Come with me, Dayton," Mendax ordered him. "And bring my cloak along so you can mend it."

"Yes, Oh Jaunty Jackass," Dayton replied, trailing behind.


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Dayton had to grit his teeth and force his limbs to move forward when he walked through the hatch and left Starbuck restrained in that Cylon contraption. The fact that he didn't know much about the Brain Probe scared Dayton more than he'd like to admit. Could it do permanent damage? Was his ploy of claiming that Starbuck was an Angylion prince going to backfire, and result in the young man becoming psychologically scarred or damaged? Man alive, he wanted to grab the nearest pulse rifle and blast his way back in there, freeing the warrior that had become like a son to him, and somehow getting him off this tub. It didn't help that Starbuck looked done in, his exhaustion evident after a day that probably went down in history as one of his longest.

Then again, Starbuck was one tough SOB. One of the toughest that Dayton had ever met. Either he led a charmed life, or God Almighty had assigned a team of guardian angels to watch over him. Yeah, the more he grew to know the kid, the more Starbuck reminded him of himself. Smart, resilient, stubborn, resourceful, and more likely to do things accented by his own personal zeal, than to tow the line. The kid would be okay. He had to be . . . because Dayton wasn't sure he could live with it if it turned out otherwise.

He let out an impossibly slow, deep breath, concentrating on his current situation, instead of what was going on back in the Brig. Personal manservant to an egocentric Cylon IL. Good God! It reminded him of the time he'd been snookered into playing slave and ended up cleaning his sister's room for a whole week, when they were kids. Still, this was a good idea. Brilliant in fact, and if it hadn't been so bloody brilliant, giving Dayton some much needed anonymity on the ship, he might have strangled Starbuck on the spot! Where in the hell did the kid come up with this stuff? And how did he know the IL would bite? Then again, Malus followed the young man around like a lap dog—while admittedly Dayton didn't have a lot of time for the cybernetic turncoat—so maybe the strike captain had a better understanding of Cylon psychology than the rest of them. Dayton kept his head lowered as he followed subserviently behind the Base Ship commander, trying to control his natural urge to disarm the nearest centurion and start blasting away. His opportunity would come, but it had to provide him with a chance to do more than kill a few Cylons.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the Control Centre, trying to appear nonchalant. Droning centurions with roving red eyes went about their duties. It was the closest he'd been to a Red Light District since backpacking around Europe. By the looks of things, they were preparing to launch this baby. Time was running out for the Angylions. Somehow Dayton had to knock out their mega-pulsars, or when the _Abaddon_ reached orbit, she would blow Morlais to Kingdom Come. Hey, overloading a fusion reactor or two wouldn't be a bad idea either. Of course, it would be preferable to be able to get off before she blew, and the only one qualified to fly a Cylon Raider out of Cylon Central was currently getting his cortex scanned.

"Commander, we-are-receiving-a-communications-signal," a centurion reported. "Despite-verification-that-it-is-a-Cylon-Raider, identification-code-is-not-in-our-databanks. It-is-not-one-of-ours."

"Not one of ours?" Mendax repeated, crossing to the panel to verify the information for himself. "Most interesting. Put it through, Centurion."

"By-your-command."

Dayton held his breath as he watched a familiarly naked IL come on screen. Freeing Starbuck was suddenly looking good! How the heck had Malus made it through? And who had he brought with him? How much fire power? Dorado was going to get a commendation, come hell or high water!

"Ah, Commander Mendax. It's been a long time," Malus said.

"Malus?" said Mendax, clearly surprised. From the way his head began flashing, it was clear he was caught completely off guard by this development.

"Yes, it is I. The Imperious Leader had given you up as destroyed, long ago. However, I knew that your unexplained disappearance was worth exploring further. Base Ships don't simply _disappear_."

"Malus," Mendax replied, still clearly flustered. "How is it that. . .?"

"_Admiral_ Malus," Malus inserted a little testily. "A new rank developed as our Empire expanded. Not only do I command the _Harrower_ now, but every ship in this region of space answers to me. I only answer directly to the Imperious Leader, himself."

"_Admiral_ . . .? The last _I_ heard, it was the _Harrower_ that had gone missing," Mendax replied haltingly.

Malus huffed deprecatingly. "Not _missing_, Mendax. On a secret mission. You would be surprised to know that there is much our supreme leader withholds from those that are not in his favour."

"Not . . ."

"Now tell me what bay I should land in, and be prepared to welcome me and Commander Baltar properly. Traversing between dimensions is very wearing on my diodes," Malus continued.

"Commander . . . _Baltar_?" Mendax asked. He scanned his memory banks, then accessed the ship's mainframe. "I have no data on any Commander Baltar. That is a Human name, is it not?"

"That is right, you don't know about Baltar, do you? I will explain further, but suffice it to know that he is a human that has risen in esteem and importance in the last deca-yahren. He has worked alongside the Imperious Leader himself, bringing to an end at last to the Thousand Yahren War."

"An _end_ . . .?"

"Did that not compute, Mendax?" Malus snapped. "Honestly, when was the last time you performed a self-diagnostic? You're as slow as congealed joint lubricant." Malus 'sighed' dramatically. "Then again, you haven't had the benefit of an IL-78 refit, like the rest of us. I had almost forgotten that you're an inferior model."

"IL-78 . . ."

Dayton watched Mendax, as he was called _inferior_ in front of his own troops. The Cylon clenched his hands like an angry school boy.

Malus harrumphed. "_Landing bay_, Mendax?"

"Gamma Bay, Admiral Malus," replied Mendax, his voice unsteady. "We will be ready."

"Be sure that you are," the IL replied. "I shall be aboard in ten centons. Admiral Malus out."

Mendax looked around the Control Centre, then at Dayton. "Come with me! And bring my cloak!"

"As you wish, My Lord Buffalo Butt."

----------

Lieutenant Rooke entered the Command Centre of the _Endeavour_, coming to alert before a restless Commander Cain. The tension was palpable, more of it brought about by the presence of the Juggernaut, than by the current situation. At least he suspected so, as he glanced at his former wing leader sympathetically. Dorado nodded at him, moving to join them.

"We haven't found the child, sirs," Rooke reported. Being relegated to organizing a search for Apollo's son, and some droid daggit, wasn't exactly how he thought he would be spending his time on the shakedown cruise of the Covert Operations Ship. "Yet."

"Internal sensors?" Cain asked after a moment.

"Only part of the grid is on-line, sir. It didn't get all connected before we left." Rooke spared a glance at Cain, then at Dorado.

"I'll remember to mention that in my report," said Cain softly.

"Ah . . . yes, sir," replied Rooke.

Cain nodded perfunctorily, frowning at he turned away to look at the scanners.

"He'll turn up, Rooke," Dorado replied, when it appeared that Cain didn't seem all that interested. He began to wonder if this was some kind of ploy for the _Pegasus_ Commander to remain on board the _Endeavour_, trying to usurp command. Then again, that certainly wasn't Sheba's style. Maybe he'd become jaded . . . from hanging out with Starbuck for too long. "Nothing more boring to a child than to hide, only to eventually realize that no one's looking for you."

Rooke let out a sigh of relief. "Than I can get back to the cadets?"

"Well . . . actually, stand by and . . ."

"Captain! They're coming back!" Coxcoxtli interrupted, from behind the station where the Clavis' control system had been tied into the _Endeavour_'s main systems. He abruptly looked perplexed as he studied the data in front of him.

"What is it?" Dorado asked.

"It's automatically recalibrating . . . looks like . . . a larger load."

"Load?" Cain asked, moving to examine the data.

"A bigger ship," Dorado suggested.

"Then where's the Raider?" Cain asked, then he raised his swagger stick. "Bring . . ."

"Bring the ship to alert!" Dorado interjected swiftly. "We don't know what's coming through. Let's be ready. Scramble Sphinx Squadron!"

Cain smiled in amusement, holding his tongue as the crew responded to the orders. The Control Centre was suddenly bathed in a red glow, the klaxon ringing ship-wide. He folded his arms over his chest and watched the scanner. A sudden blip appeared.

"Sagaris?" Dorado asked.

"War book says it's a Cylon transport, sir," the young cadet replied.

"She's hailing us, Captain," Pierus added.

"Open a line."

"This is Lieutenant Dietra," the familiar voice replied. "Requesting permission to land. We have one wounded aboard and will need a hoverstretcher standing by."

"Cancel launch order. Have Sphinx Squadron stand down. Cancel the alert," Dorado ordered before turning his attention to the shuttle again. "You're cleared to land in Beta Bay, Lieutenant," he told her, with mounting anxiety. After all, his current medical team existed of an Empyrean healer and a psychologist. _Please let Cassiopeia be aboard!_ "Is Cassiopeia aboard?"

"She is, Captain. She's already attending Dr. Ryan and his prognosis is good," Dietra replied, her voice shaky for a moment, before she cleared her throat. "Colonel Apollo wants the _Endeavour_ standing by for interdimensional travel as soon as possible."

"Interdimensional travel?" Cain repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"Report to the War Room for debriefing as soon as you land," Dorado ordered, before adding, "and, Dee . . . I'm glad Ryan's going to be okay."

There was a brief pause before a soft voice replied, "Me too. Thanks, Dorado. Dee out."

---------

_  
The sounds were deafening and terrifying as he was jostled awake, but abruptly he was pulled tightly against his mother's bosom, recognizing her comforting warmth, scent and touch. The din was so loud, he barely heard the soothing words she cooed into his hair, stroking it and kissing it lightly, as she picked him up and hurried out into the night. Moments later, the ground shook as behind them, the world exploded and the entire sky flared with light. _

_It was cold, startlingly so, and the night sky glowed sporadically with fire and smoke. Intermittently, he could feel intense heat, as the air thickened with stench and smudge. He burrowed his head deeper into the comforting sweetness of his mother. As she carried him heedlessly through the thicket, brambles smacked against unprotected skin, scraping him, hurting him. He began to cry, sensing his mother's growing unease and urgency as screams, klaxons, and so many other loud, unfamiliar and disturbing sounds surrounded them in the darkness of the Thorn Forest, outside Umbra. _

"_Shh!" she hushed him, almost desperately. "Please be quiet, son. Please." His hand gripped her nightshirt, and balled it into a comforting lump that muffled his cries as he sucked reflexively on it for comfort. She boosted him upward, securing her precious load close to her heart before continuing on._

_Onward, she tore through the thickets, breathless, as he whimpered in her arms. She stumbled countless times, but pressed on, refusing to give up. Then he heard a low drone, that from that day forward would forever strike fear into his heart. _

"_Halt, Human!"_

_She came to an abrupt stop, gasping sharply, pausing in indecision as she turned to and fro, looking for escape. Then she dashed forward, sprinting through the night as a blast exploded behind them and nearby underbrush burst into flame. Muffling her scream of terror, she raced onward, finally plunging into metrons of thick brambles, oblivious to the thorns shredding her clothes, and cutting her skin, before dropping to her knees, and prying him from her chest._

"_Search-the-thicket. Exterminate-the-Humans." Cold. Clinical. Terrifyingly cruel. _

"_Stay here, son. Don't make a sound, and stay here," she hissed. Beyond, in the darkness, the sound of weapons. Screams._

"_Mama . . ." he cried, wanting to hide in the safety of her embrace. She turned away. "Mama!"_

_He clutched at her, tears pouring down his cheeks as she reluctantly turned back to him. Relenting, she hastily pulled him into her arms, crushing him against her and stroking his hair, while shushing him. She drew an unsteady breath, rocking him back and forth, savouring the moment. Then she pulled back, her eyes brimming with tears as they studied his features intently._

"_Look at me, Solarus," she whispered. "Mama needs you to be her brave boy. Can you do that for me?"_

_He shook his head, unable to answer, only wanting her to hold him and never let him go. He was too afraid to be without her. He didn't want to be left in the thorn thicket, in the darkness. He didn't want to be alone._

"_You have to be quiet like a mouse, and brave like a leon, son. Wait here until your father or I come for you . . ." she paused, gasping in a breath as the droning she had earlier heard drew relentlessly closer. It was that sound that would drive her away from him. She cautiously raised her head, looking for the source, before ducking down again. "That's my brave boy," she whispered hoarsely. "Mama loves you, never forget that." She kissed him tenderly, and then put a finger to her lips. "Quiet like a mouse, brave like a leon." _

_Then with a quick look around, she lurched upward, charging loudly and recklessly through the brambles in a different direction, protecting her son by leading the Cylons away. Too afraid to do otherwise, he cowered on the ground, his arms wrapped around himself as he listened. His stomach hurt and he stifled a cough as a wave of smoke and heat wafted over him. He wanted to call for his mother, to scream her name until she came back for him. But he knew he couldn't. He had to be Mama's brave boy . . . _

_The droning grew louder, and he dared to peek up in time to see roving red eyes looking in the direction his mother had run. He held his breath as the monstrous Cylons passed him by, and then ducked back down, trying to be courageous and still._

_It was dark. Smoky. The smell was awful. He was alone. But his mother would come back. She promised him. Soon she would pull him back into her arms, drying his eyes, and telling him stories, and it would be alright . . ._

_A scream. A blast. Silence._

_Mama!_

"These-cortical-images-indicate-childhood," the centurion reported, looking over at the unconscious Angylion prince. He was leaking—fluid beading on his skin, and trickling down his face—which was normal with most human subjects, beyond a certain level of intensity. However, this was the first Angylion to undergo a Cylon Brain Probe, as far as the data in his memory bank could ascertain.

"Refine-the-scan. Recalibrate-the-species-matrix."

"By-your-command." The centurion reached forward, obeying. The equipment hummed, a graphic of the subject's brain on the screen. The subject strained momentarily, before his head once again lolled forward onto his chest.

"Proceed."

----------

Leaning up against a rock behind the jagged natural formations that surrounded the Cylon Base Ship, Prince Glynn studied the "chronometer" that his doublewalker had given him. Apollo had called it a "crash course in telling time", but when Glynn had looked at him blankly while trying to rationalize "microns", "centons" and "centars", while two of the other humans known as Ryan and Baker had kept trying to step in and help, while babbling about "seconds", "minutes" and "ow-ers", Apollo had finally set a "timer" on the wrist piece, telling him with the utmost confidence that when it "went off", it would be time to start the attack. It was a fascinating tool for war, and Llewelyn and General Caradoc had similar timepieces, which would coordinate the attack on three fronts.

But first, the Colonials had to knock out the massive weapons. Instinctively, he pressed himself against the rock as the Raider that carried Apollo, Baltar, Malus, Lia and Luana appeared on the horizon.

Soon, Morlais would be free.

----------

Cold. Barren. Like a vacuous wasteland. Ama couldn't help but shiver as she connected with Iblis' psyche, feeling a chill leech through her, idly threatening to consume her, body and soul, bit by bit. No passion, no joy, no love, only malice and discontent. It was a departure from her connections with so many other Beings during her lifetime. Had she been naïve to presume that she would unite spiritually with her own father, and learn the truth about his life? To finally see through his eyes what had first drawn him to her home planet of Empyrean, and then what had driven him away? Why he had changed from a respected and beloved member of society, into the epitome of evil. She had even entertained the thought of trying to change him, save him, setting him back on the enlightened path, as she had done with Baltar of late, and so many others over the yahrens. Had she overestimated her own abilities? Had she endangered herself by taking such a risk? Every bit of reason in her now was crying, "Yes!". Her instinct told her to retreat, to flee, but instead she held her ground, and waited. Pride demanded it.

_Foolish child! Now you are in my domain! And you came willingly!_

"Well then, since I'm here . . . how about the two-cubit tour?" Ama returned casually, abruptly feeling the raw force of his power surround her, engulfing her. The energy was so great, it felt as though it could tear her to pieces and devour her. Such was his threat.

He obviously didn't know who he was dealing with.

----------

"Quick! Move!" Apollo ordered, leaping out of the pilot's seat even as Lia was lifting up the floor panel behind the third Cylon seat. Four Colonials and an IL in one Hybrid Raider, it had been quite the ride for Lia and Baltar who had been haphazardly secured with strapping. He started to follow Lia down into the cramped storage compartment below the deck, then glanced up, locking eyes with Baltar. He didn't like the idea of not being near the traitor on a infiltration mission that was so important, but he also realized that Malus and Baltar were the perfect decoys to create enough confusion and fuss for him and Lia to locate the Mega Pulsar's archaic projection matrix system. If they could reverse the energy beam, it would blow the old Base Ship to Hades hole when the time came that the Cylons inevitably fired her up in orbit to destroy Morlais. Then they could concentrate on finding Dayton and Starbuck. Malus had thought that the self-confident and egotistical nature of Baltar would go a long way to making the "sting", as Baker called it, succeed. Well, he could hardly argue with that. "_Baltar_ . . ." he began.

Baltar smiled in apparent amusement. "As much as it obviously pains you, you're just going to have to trust me, Colonel Apollo." Then he shrugged. "Or at least trust that your compatriots will keep an adequate eye on me."

"Oh, don't you worry about that," Luana inserted, pushing down on Apollo's reluctant head, and beginning to lower the panel back into place. "Tuck in, you two. And no funny stuff down there." She grinned at her executive officer's sudden indignant mien as he disappeared into temporary hiding with her sister.

"Let's take a look at you," Baltar said to the young officer, as she stood up, pausing in front of him. She wore a black tunic and pants, compliments of the Angylions, and Dietra's rank pins were on her collar. The once formal clothing of the Angylion Palace Guard had the proper appearance for a uniform that could have come from this fabricated alliance with the Cylons, and the collar pins denoted a rank more appropriate to someone that would be piloting an admiral and commander across dimensions. Baltar nodded approvingly at her. "Looking sharp, Lieutenant."

She saluted smartly while standing at attention, a suggestion that Baker had made, denoting a slight change in the more lax Colonial military tradition. "Thank you, sir."

Baltar returned the salute, slightly more casually. "At ease. Let us proceed."

A moment later, they were descending the ladder, and were stepping onto the tarmac.

----------

"_Will you be my wife, Luana? Seal with me?" He blinked back tears, surprised how his emotions had overcome him so suddenly._

"_You know I will. I already said, 'yes'. Didn't we just . . . have a celebration?" She replied, her voice also choked with emotion. It was like a beautiful dream come true. She pulled him to his feet and kissed him. He trembled slightly as he then pulled her to him._

"_To Ama, the Empyrean Quorum, and the Fleet, you said 'yes'." Starbuck replied, nuzzling her hair. "I needed you to say 'yes' to me, Lu."_

"_I was only waiting for you to ask me, Innamorato." She whispered to him. "I love you, Starbuck. I'd be honoured to be . . ."_

"Inconsequential. Recalibrate."

"By-your-command," the centurion replied, hitting a switch and watching the subject jerk in the chair, his face twisting, before his head dropped listlessly onto his chest again. "Recalibrated."

"_I dare ya!"_

_Starbuck scoffed at Waldemar, glancing through the window out at the big Quercus tree. "No way," he muttered, shaking his head and dealing out another hand of cards onto his bed._

"_I double dare ya!"_

_Starbuck narrowed his eyes, looking out at the tree again. The stakes were getting higher, and they were getting some attention now. A few of the other boys were slowly wandering over, wondering if he'd rise to the occasion . . . like he usually did. After all, the matron had confined him to his room for fighting for the next sectar, the exceptions being instructional periods, worship and meals. You're eight-yahrens old, Starbuck! You should know better!_

"_Oh yeah?" Starbuck tossed back._

"_I double daggit dare ya!" Waldemar sneered, his fat lip just about eclipsing his black eye as it snarled back over his chipped and crooked teeth. The boy could be the poster child for "ugly", especially after their fight yesterday. Still, the way things were going, he would probably still get adopted before Starbuck._

_Every young head in the room seemed to hold a collective breath. If he didn't take the dare, he'd never live it down. No one was going to call him a coward! _

"_Fine!" Starbuck snapped, lurching up from the bed and pacing to the window. The catch was that this particular tree was "child safe". They had lopped off any tempting branches that a reasonable child might decide to use to scale it. However, Starbuck—as they should have known by now—was anything but reasonable. _

_As the other children gasped in disbelief, he climbed out onto the ledge, grasping the edges of the window frame, and sizing up how far it was to the closest branch. He sidled along the narrow ledge, getting a little bit closer, as young heads stared out the nearby windows in anticipation. If he could just reach that one branch, making to the one above it would be easy, and before he knew it he would be at the top. Who said you had to start at the bottom to climb a tree? Yeah, he'd show them. He'd show them all!_

_Reaching out with one hand, he pushed off . . . _

"Recalibrated." The centurion again glanced at the subject, noting the Angylion's reaction to the abrupt cortical disturbance. His eyelids flickered erratically, and his face was contorted.

"By-your-command."

_A trickle of sweat trailed down his temples, distracting him. He blinked and in an instant realized that his heart was hammering in his chest. A slight crack in the immuring haze beckoned to him. If he reached up just a little higher he could get there._

"_Stay with me!"_

_The words echoed through his mind, suffusing the rest of his body until his skin felt as though it was too tight, encasing an unnatural presence, which he fought to dispel. It brought to mind a Gemonese sausage roasting over a fire, its casing about to split open as it expanded under the pressure . . ._

"_Look at me, Starbuck!"_

_Her voice was like a cracking whip; his eyes snapped open, again drawn to Ama's riveting stare. "Ama . . . " he rasped, as the walls that had protected and comforted him seemed to cave in from all directions, leaving him freefalling into the brilliant blue glow before him._

"He-continues-to-resist-our-probing."

"This-is-unprecedented-at-this-level."

"Nonetheless-resistance-continues."

"Increase-voltons."

"By-your-command."

_A blaring alarm sounded in the cockpit. He cut his power, hitting reverse thrusters, feeling like he would snap in two as he ricocheted backwards. He cut thrust as he closed his eyes against the sudden blinding flash of light, his body jerking, and feeling as though a bolt of energy had just shot through it. The air seemed to be sucked from his lungs, and he gasped, even as he realized his ship was still fully powered up and responding. The problem was, he wasn't. . . _

"Recalibrate."

"By-your-command."

_An abrupt breath expelled in a tortuous gasp. Starbuck's mouth opened, his breath caught in his throat, as he tried to suck in precious air. His fingers dug into Regus' robes from where they had rested on the man's shoulder. The pain followed a micron later, slowly building from a burn to a searing torment as he looked down between them in morbid fascination. In paralytic shock._

_The knife was still inside Starbuck, Regus' hand still clenching it, his knuckles white. Blood oozed from the jagged hole in his tunic, spreading its stain across his uniform. It was surreal. As though time had slowed down to force him to endure every milli-centon of the experience. Starbuck slumped against the wall, his supporting leg giving out beneath him. Regus stayed with him, his grip relentless as he twisted his body to face the warrior. Then the Empyrean pulled back slightly, changing his grip to press against the lieutenant's chest. Starbuck's head lifted and met the older man's eyes. As if that was what he was waiting for, Regus gazed at him balefully, and jerked the blade back out again, twisting it sharply, tearing at flesh anew. An animalistic cry of pain ripped from the warrior's throat. . . _

"We-have-exceeded-normal-limits-of-human-tolerance."

"He-is-not-human. Proceed."

_The Earthman was out of control._

_A growl of fury spewed from Dayton as he pushed himself up from the deck. Starbuck could feel the weight beneath him shift slightly and then suddenly the man had a hold of his hair and was attempting to jerk it out by the roots. The yelp of pain that spontaneously cleared his lips sounded pathetic even to him._

_He reflexively clawed at the hand, his neck wrenching painfully as he was pulled forward, and then flipped onto his back, knocking the breath from him. He gazed up into crazed, grey eyes that glared balefully at him for a moment before suddenly widening in recognition._

"_Starbuck . . .?" Dayton sputtered._

"He-continues-to-resist."

"Recalibrate."

"By-your-command."

_A coughing fit hit him. Tears pricked his eyes, and his stomach reeled as he rested his head against the boulder until the hacking eased. With that racket, he might as well just fire off a flare announcing to the Cylons, here we are! They'd be circling around, and getting ready to surround him by now. For a milli-centon he considered going back and ending it all for Lu. It would be the decent thing to do. Ama would understand. Still, there was some measure of hope, however faint, that help might arrive in time if he could hold them off. Besides, he knew he didn't have it in him. He couldn't shoot Luana, anymore than he could shoot himself. He didn't have the nerve. Some people called it a will to survive, but he knew it by its real name. Fear. And it was choking him now, making it feel as though there was a battlestar resting on his chest, as he shakily raised his weapon once again while the drone of his mortal enemies drew ever closer. . . _

"Recalibrate."

"By-your-command."

_Starbuck moaned, shaking his head at the obvious reference. "He told you . . ." he whined. The name. What had his parents been thinking? His stomach pitched again, no doubt in empathy. "Ohhhh . . . "_

"_I think it's sweet." Luana grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as she looked over at Chameleon. "Solarus. The ancient Kobolian sun god." She chuckled at Starbuck's look of dismay. _

"_Prince Solarus of the Empyrean Imperial Family," Ama inserted with a wry grin, chuckling when he started heaving again. "Is it really that bad?"_

"_First a Colonial Warrior, and now a prince. And all of it on the level." Chameleon murmured, his voice thick with emotion, despite his teasing words. "You're doing alright, son, considering your humble beginnings in Umbra . . ." _

"Refine-the-scan. We are getting closer."

"By-your-command."

---------

Baltar smothered a smile as he walked side by side with Malus, down the aisle created by the Cylon honour guard that Commander Mendax had organized. Luana followed dutifully behind them, her face as expressionless as his own. In his experience, it was always interesting and very often entertaining, to observe two IL Cylons together. There seemed to be a natural rivalry and antagonism, traits that were more characteristically Human than naturally Cylon. He couldn't help but think about Lucifer's dislike, distrust, and jealousy when they had come across the "older model" and commander of the Atilla garrison, Spectre. It fleetingly made him wonder what had become of his former Cylon sidekick, and if he had indeed been destroyed over Planet 'P'.

Then he spotted Commander Dayton standing off to one side, a red garment in his hands waving back and forth to get his attention. Baltar glanced around briefly, looking for the missing Starbuck, before returning his attention to Dayton. The Earthman was frowning at him, raising his fingers to his temples, and briefly rubbing them furiously, while he rolled his eyes, and made hideous faces. His first thought was that Dayton was mocking him. His next . . . either Starbuck was currently being brain probed, or Dayton had lost it.

Possibly all three.

"Admiral Malus. Commander Baltar." Mendax bowed as they approached. "It is an honour to receive you."

The IL was unclad, like Malus, and it occurred to Baltar that for some reason Dayton had been put in trust of his robe.

"Commander Mendax," Malus returned, taking a long moment to look around the bay. "I greet you in the name of our Imperious Leader." At the mention of the Cylon ruler, Baltar and Luana bowed their heads momentarily. "I should like a tour of your ship, ending in an inspection of your troops. Have them congregate in your Alpha Bay."

Mendax seemed to bristle, as Lucifer used to, when he was receiving an order he didn't want to obey. "This may not be the best time for an inspection, Admiral . . ." he began.

"Well, since you're rather overdue for reporting in, Commander, I can't think of a better time," Malus returned indignantly.

"It appears as though the _Harbinger _sustained considerable damage," Baltar inserted, not even addressing the fact that Mendax had to be dubious, to say the least, of this professed alliance between the Cylons and Colonials. However, Malus was prepared for that. Rather impressively, actually. "How long have you been grounded here, Commander Mendax?"

"Ten yahrens, Commander Baltar," Mendax returned.

"And you haven't managed to get her off the ground yet?" Malus replied caustically. "Why ever not?" The lights in his head sped up, as if making note of it.

"Resources are limited, Admiral," Mendax replied. "Some metal ores we needed were in short supply, here. But since you mention it, we _are_ almost ready to lift off."

"Really? How impressive," Baltar replied with an approving nod, while internally wincing. Thankfully, Apollo been prepared for that eventuality. "We noticed that there's apparently an established society here." He glanced at Dayton. "Is he one of the locals?"

"Yes." Nothing more.

Baltar nodded, finding it strangely energizing to be on the "right side". Not that turning against the Colonials hadn't occurred to him . . . but then that witch's words from sectars ago had come back to him. _While your path to redemption may have begun on the planet, your reward will not come until the hereafter. But only if you continue your quest._ Could a separate dimension apart from their own be considered the hereafter? It made a certain kind of sense . . . at least to a bureautician. "How progressive. I admit that I thought you would still be exterminating humanoids as per the Edict from your time."

Mendax's lights sped up calculatingly before replying. "You must tell me more about this . . . Armistice. It is difficult to . . . correlate."

"Yes, I imagine it is," Baltar sympathized. "But when the Board first attacked the Twelve Colonies of Man, and then simultaneously the Cylon Empire, the only possible solution was for two ancient enemies to find common ground to overcome the most deadly foe known to either Mankind or Cylonkind."

Malus turned then to consider Baltar. It left the man with the impression he had somehow messed up his role as "good cop" to Malus' "bad cop" . . . the way that Baker had illustrated it when they had expounded on the IL's original idea. Actually, the amount of Earth elements used to pull off this plan was significant.

"The Board?" Mendax asked sceptically. "What is this _Board_?"

Malus then turned to address the IL. "Not 'Board', Commander Mendax. Apparently you need your auditory receptors replaced. They are the _Borg_."


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Dayton had done his best at keeping quiet and unassuming, well other than to try to communicate to the others that Starbuck was having his brain virtually dissected by the Cylons. He was also unsure of whether to laugh or spit. Here he was, aboard a ship full of cybernetics constructs that had the capability to destroy this planet and every living Angylion on it, and Malus was role-playing out of _Star Trek:_ _The_ _Next Generation. _

_ Great. First I'm Captain Kirk, now I get to be Picard. Only it's Starbuck that's getting assimilated!_

Surrounded by seemingly endless Cylons, he could hopefully fade into the background when and if needs be. Still, it was hard to go completely unnoticed when you were over six feet tall, dashingly good-looking, and carrying a shimmering red cape that would have Liberace panting in ecstasy. If only he could sneak inside the Hybrid Raider, then he could at least arm himself and try to knock out the mega pulsar, then get back to Starbuck. After all, with most of the surviving centurions being summoned for inspection—a brilliant plan that he'd have to commend _Neon Noggin_ on—the way around the Base Ship would be relatively clear and easy. However, it was not to be. When the time came to leave the landing bay, Mendax still insisted that he tag along, leaving Dayton wondering if Mendax was really as buffaloed as they'd hoped, or was still suspicious. Suspicion and downright paranoia seemed to be common with these IL guys, from everything he'd studied. Even _if _the IL was snowed, he decided that if he heard, "Dayton. Come, and bring my cloak" one more time, he'd make the IL eat the ragged cloth.

Irritatingly, he found himself standing in the hatchway of the Control Centre while Malus prepared to brief the Cylons on the Borg. The inspiring idea had Baker's signature all over it. Dayton was looking for an opportunity to slip away unnoticed when Luana passed him by. Smooth as silk, a cold metal gun butt was slipped into his hand, swiftly hidden beneath the red cloak. Suddenly, being relegated to Mendax's manservant had taken a new turn. To the princess' credit, she didn't even acknowledge him as she passed by, the holster on her left hip now empty . . . and he hadn't even noticed until now that she had been wearing two guns, so amazed he was to see them.

"The Borg are genetically and cybernetically modified humanoids," Malus began to explain. "They function as a collective made up of thousands of species, from across both the universe we know, and transdimensionally, who have been assimilated into a single hive-mind. In their collective state, the Borg are utterly without mercy, or fear . . . driven by one will alone: the will to conquer. They are beyond redemption . . . beyond reason."

Without even asking for consent, the IL plugged in the smallest digit on his right hand, interfacing with the _Harbinger_'s mainframe. Dayton hid a triumphant grin, wondering what else the IL would be doing while plugged into the _Harbinger_'s systems. The devious bugger could rewrite access codes, deactivate weapons, and cause all kinds of chaos. It gave him a new respect for the turncoat Cylon . . . and made him glad Malus was on _his_ side.

On screen, a cube-like ship appeared, with no apparent propulsion system. A moment later, the image shifted to that of grotesque humanoids. Their skin tone resembled that of a human corpse of several days vintage, and various electronic modifications were apparent plugging into their skulls and bodies. An eerie sound bite started as further holoptics of the Beings were displayed on screen. Dayton recognized them as being from the _Borg Documentary_ that they had recovered from the _Endeavour_. Actually, even Malus' words seemed reminiscent of the Sci-fi documentary, but that last statement was definitely a quote from Captain Jean-Luc Picard.

"_We are the Borg. Lower you shields and surrender your ships. You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile_."

"The main goal of the _Borg, _Commander Mendax, is to perfect themselves by consuming and assimilating technology," Baltar continued. "They accomplish this task by conquering other races, assimilating both the species and its technology. However, they only attempt to assimilate those species and technologies which they consider relevant, that is, advanced enough to be of use to their goal for technological perfection."

"And they _still_ attacked Humans, Commander?" Mendax asked, somewhat sarcastically.

"And Cylons alike, Commander," Baltar replied diplomatically, turning to Luana. "Lieutenant."

"Sir," Luana acknowledged. "The Borg can function in environments normally harmful to organic life-forms, such as excessively high or low gravity planets, toxic atmospheres, and even the vacuum of space." She stepped forward, indicating the continuing holoptics. "As you can imagine, this provides them with a huge advantage in battle, as it allows them to both repair their own ships _and_ sabotage ours, often simultaneously. Another advantage that the Borg have in battle is that the have a collective consciousness that allows for both almost infinitely accelerated computational power, but also virtually instantaneous adaptations to both shield _and_ laser frequency modulations."

Dayton leaned closer, shaking his head in amazement while the Cylon commander watched a number of Borg drones take repeated hits from both Colonial and Cylon infantry weapons. One drone fell, sparking and smoking, followed by another. Then, each and every one seemed to field a force screen, brushing aside subsequent shots like blows from a feather. As they advanced, both "human" and "Cylon" soldiers went down before their firepower. The "Cylons" were rendered smoking junk, the "humans" were pierced by needles, beginning the process of assimilation into the Borg Collective. Dayton wasn't sure how they'd pieced the presentation together so quickly and realistically, but it sure as hell looked convincing to him.

"As you can see, after a few shots, the Borg adapt, rendering standard-issue assault weapons useless," Lu continued with a frown. "It gives them an ability for quick adaptation, which protects both Borg drones and their ships from sustaining most major forms of damage during battle."

New images came up. Pieces of shattered space vehicles and destroyed hulks littered the region around a star, floating aimlessly in the void. Dayton recognized the scene, suitably altered. Along with _Trek _ships, there were suitably generated "pieces" of Battlestars, Base Ships, and various other military craft, human and Cylon, in various stages of obliteration. What remained of a Viper drifted by, along with bits of a destroyed Raider.

"An entire fleet destroyed?" asked Mendax, openly shocked. "Full Base Ships? But how?"

"Their weapons are almost unstoppable," replied Baltar. "This battle took place almost nine yahrens ago, near Pineas Prime. A single Borg cube was met by a task force of a full score of Allied vessels. You can see the results for yourself, Commander."

"But how?" asked Mendax again, a trace of anger seeping into his voice. "Even Colonial Battlestars are not so easily overcome."

"By capturing and assimilating some of our own," said Malus.

"They . . . collaborated?"

"They were assimilated," corrected Baltar. "Once done, they had no choice." Next to image of "Picard", Malus put up the image of another IL Series Cylon. Baltar could barely contain the delicious irony of using the image of Lucifer, his one-time aide and annoyance, fitted with numerous Borg "attachments".

"One of _us_?" said Mendax, taking a step closer to the screen.

"No longer," said Malus. "Once Commander Lucifer was integrated into the Borg Collective, all he knew became a part of them. They used his knowledge, as well as that of the human you see here, to overcome every defence the task force possessed."

"And this . . . human?"

"A Commander . . . _Picard,_ as I recall?"

"Yes, sir," replied Lu. "Originally of the . . .uh, _Federation, _if memory serves."

"They sound almost . . . indestructible," Mendax ventured. He sounded worried.

"It certainly seemed so upon first contact," said Lu, her features tight and controlled as her missing husband obviously preyed upon her mind, which lent to the believability of her performance. "And when any Being is assimilated, human or Cylon, everything it knows, every memory, every bit of data, is instantly known to the entire Borg Collective."

"Which is why the Cylons and humans were forced to unite against them," Malus replied. "They are patently the most malevolent and relentless force in the entire Star System. Can you imagine any _other_ scenario where two races bent on each other's destruction for a millennium would agree to a cessation of hostilities, and form an alliance?" Malus made a noise that sounded like a snort. "I cannot."

"This alliance . . ." Mendax began.

"Pay attention, Mendax," Malus "sighed", as an entirely new series of images crossed the screen. It was original footage of the Armistice unfolding in Caprica City, before the Cylons had attacked. Artfully edited into that were archival holoptics and what had to be computer generated images that gave every appearance that the Cylons and Colonials were celebrating their newfound alliance. It made Dayton wonder if Malus had an infinite amount of those kinds of files saved in his memory banks, and while he knew of the IL's obsession with humans, in particular Starbuck, he hadn't known Malus had seen or digitally stored any Earth movies or documentaries. "We expect the Borg to appear in this quadrant, and despite your ineptitude and obvious lack of decorum and respect, which I shall be mentioning to the Imperious Leader in my report, we have still decided to come to your assistance. We need you and your troops, Commander. The Alliance needs you." Malus made it sound so . . . desperately heroic. "Even _one_ Allied ship taken by the Borg would be one too many. And the data you have collected on this entire region of space would be invaluable to the Borg, Commander. Indeed, the key to their victory, or ours, may lie in your data banks."

"And the race of humanoids that you are protecting must also be considered," Baltar added.

"Protecting . . ." Mendax murmured, his lights blinking rapidly as he looked at Dayton. "Dayton, go about your duties. Report back to me when my cloak has been repaired to my satisfaction."

"Yes, my Lord Hemorrhoid," Dayton nodded, slipping out through the hatch, counting his blessings that Baltar had given him the chance to get out from under Mendax's watchful electronic eye. The Cylon IL would not want_ Admiral _Malus and _Commander_ Baltar catching wind of the fact that they were presently brain probing one of the humanoids that they were apparently "protecting". It was definitely time to get the manservant out of sight. He hesitated just outside the Control Centre, getting his bearings. Mega Pulsar or Starbuck . . . ?

He thought furiously, going back to his earliest days in the service, and the missions he and been on. _The Mission. Complete the mission objective! People fall in war. You cannot allow yourself to be distracted by personal feelings. The enemy must be neutralized to the fullest extent possible. Complete the mission!_

_ But thirty years in a hellhole, with only his friends to keep him sane had a way of altering a guy's perceptions . . . messing with his priorities . . ._

"Okay," he breathed, and began to move.

"How exactly will you assist us, Admiral?" Mendax was asking.

"The _Harrower_ will be joining us shortly, so we should proceed to Alpha Bay for the inspection of your troops," Malus informed him, waving a limb towards the hatch. "Our Base Ship is armed with the only thing we have developed so far that can defeat the Borg."

"And what is that?"

"The Microsoft OS."

----------

"Well?" Lia asked, crammed up against the colonel in the tiny storage compartment beneath the deck of the Hybrid fighter. There was a time when she would have wished for just such a situation, having had quite a crush on Apollo. His gentle nature, his subtle charisma, his instinctive need to watch over others . . . and all in such an attractive package. However, it hadn't taken her long to realize that the warrior's heart belonged to Sheba, and that she was just another cadet that he was paying a little extra attention to because she had become the unofficial charge of his best friend. Then, after a long time of committing herself solely to her career, she had realized that love came in many packages, and would appear when you least expected it. Thus began her relationship with Jolly. "Colonel?" she prompted him again, as he adjusted a dial on the optical display that was relaying the surveillance feed from the scanners in the Hybrid's cockpit. She spared a thought for her godmother, wondering what was happening in the Angylion Holy Sanctum, before returning her attention to the job at hand. Ama could take care of herself.

"They're gone," Apollo whispered in reply.

Neither of them had been surprised that a pair of centurions had boarded and examined the interior of their fighter. In this instance, the modifications made to the Hybrid Raiders, combining both Colonial and Cylon technology, ironically substantiated their story of an Alliance.

Lia nodded as Apollo did a final sweep, then set down the scanner, undoing the hatch that locked them into their hiding place. Tentatively, he lifted the cover, cautiously peeking out before slowly swinging the hatch open wide. She nimbly climbed out past him, pausing to lean down and offer him a hand up.

He frowned at it, and she couldn't hide the smile when he shook his head and cumbersomely, yet determinedly, climbed up out of the hold under his own steam, despite cramped limbs. He glanced at her, frowning.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied, crossing to look out through the port. "Looks quiet out there. I can't see any centurions."

"Even when Starbuck and I landed on that Base Star last yahren, the landing bay was almost completely empty of centurions after they had disembarked from their fighters. We didn't even see any maintenance crew."

"Well, I guess we're about to find out if they're consistent," Lia remarked, heading for the outer hatch and ladder. For whatever reason, the inspecting centurions had left the hatch open, reducing any potential noise upon deplaning. "Thoughtful of them," she quipped, gesturing towards the hatch.

Apollo nodded. "Well, if Malus' plan worked, they should all be gathering in Alpha Bay," he told her, then lightly touched her arm. "I'll go first."

"Right behind you," she replied, pulling her weapon.

A moment later she saw he was on the deck, squatting low, minimizing himself as a target, and sweeping the landing bay with his weapon. In a micron she had joined him. So far, so good. No Cylons. He nodded at her again, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. She decided she'd have to ask him about it later, as they headed for the Central Core.

It was an incredible advantage coming from an almost exact replica of this ship, considering they'd made some necessary modifications for conditions suiting humans. They scaled the ladder confidently, knowing which level to get off on, and where to go to find the Mega Pulsar's projection matrix and power control systems. It was almost _too_ easy, as they slunk down the deserted corridors before finally reaching their destination.

"Clear," reported Lia, scanning the area.

Once again, Apollo led the way, staying low as he paused at the controlled hatchway. "Let's hope this works," he murmured to Lia, punching in an override access code that Malus should have inputted by now, if he'd interfaced with the mainframe as planned. He held his breath for the brief instant it took for the hatch to _thunk_ open. A moment later they entered the control station for the immense weapon, bursting through, prepared to do battle.

"Clear," Lia said again in disbelief, finding the room unguarded.

"How about that," Apollo murmured, closing the hatch behind them, and taking a moment to get his bearings.

However, "clear" didn't last long. No sooner had they entered, and the hatchway sealed, then another loud_ thunk _at the hatch indicated the arrival of centurions.

"Triquetra's Trousers . . ." cursed Lia.

Apollo grabbed her, pulling her back into a recessed ladderwell in the bulkhead. Microns later, both centurions entered the room behind them, and moved to their positions. Apollo signalled to Lia, staying out of sight as he raised his weapon.

And none too soon. One centurion turned, and saw them. Before it could draw its own weapon, it had called out to the other.

Lia blasted away, hitting the centurion directly in the chest. There was no margin for error in here. Any collateral damage could be detected in the Control Centre. The other fell a few microns later, belching smoke and sparks.

"Must have been change of watch," said Lia, as together they pulled one centurion from the seat at the controls, dumping it behind the energy exchange pump. Apollo followed with the other. She seated herself at the panel, and began studying the controls. "Okay, now how do we . . .?"

"Like this," said Apollo. He leaned over her, pressing several controls. A schematic came up on a screen. He pointed out the vital system. "We sabotage the energy exchange pump. When they try to fire, and the feedback will overload the whole weapon. It'll blow itself to Hades hole."

"Works for me. So what . . .?"

"_Upper-pulsar-station,__"_came a voice, suddenly, over the intercom. "_Auxiliary-power-test-in-three-centons. Acknowledge.__"_

"Apollo?"

"_Frack_ . . ."

_"__Upper-pulsar-station, acknowledge.__"_

---------

Dayton paused in indecision, looking down the corridor that would take him back to the Brig and then up the ladderwell that would end at the station for the Mega Pulsar. His first priority should be destroying that pulsar . . . then again, Malus would be planning and scheming with that in mind, as well. Besides, even though he hadn't seen Apollo, it wasn't like his executive officer to sit back and let a princess, a traitor and a reformed Cylon run this show. Hell, _he _wouldn't! No, Apollo had to be somewhere on this ship. That was most likely why Malus had demanded an inspection of the Cylon troops, to clear the way for the colonel to get to the terrifying energy weapon.

That decided, he headed for the Brig.

The corridors were mostly empty, and he had to remind himself that Mendax had cleared him to be wandering the Base Ship, presumably in search of needle and thread. He almost laughed at the thought of mending tools aboard a Base Ship, but instead took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and trying to get back into character as a manservant . . . which was difficult with his right hand wrapped around the butt of his Colonial weapon, hidden beneath the cloak.

As he reached the Brig, he faltered, as the hatch opened and he found himself face to face with a centurion. Within he could hear Mendax's voice through the comm, "_Very well. Take the prince to his . . . quarters. I will examine the scan later_. _I will be in Alpha Bay for the inspection. Report there as soon as the prince is . . . recovered_."

"By-your-command," came the reply.

_Two centurions, minimal. Right._

"Hi there," Dayton smiled tremulously up at the Cylon that emerged from the hatch. "Commander Mendax told me to fix his cloak," he raised his arm slightly in illustration, and hastily continued. "But I think I dropped my Singer serger back here. You know, the one with the treadle on it? And, well . . . that will never do." He peered into the Brig past the centurion. Starbuck was still strapped into that chair, but appeared unconscious. The Cylon probe was rising up slowly, obviously just having finished sucking whatever images it could out of the young man's brain. Dayton could feel his guts knotting up when he caught sight of the pale warrior, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. Thankfully, he could see the steady rise and fall of his chest.

"Singer-serger-does-not-compute," the centurion replied, as Dayton squeezed past him. "Treadle-does-not-compute."

"Well, don't bust a bobbin, bub," Dayton replied, stepping into the room. Yeah, there were two walking garbage cans guarding one restrained and unconscious Colonial Warrior. A little unfair. "It's around here somewhere, I'm sure of it. I never leave home without my trusty sewing machine, although it can get a little cumbersome sometimes." He made a show of looking around. "My vision's not what it used to be, too much squinting when I thread my needles . . . can you see it?"

"There-is-nothing-that . . ."

The hatch clicked shut as the centurion stepped inside again, and Dayton pivoted, firing his weapon point-blank into one centurion, and a split second later, the other. Both staggered on the spot, as sparks and smoke shot out of them. One toppled towards him, and he leapt out of the way. The other fell back against Starbuck's chair, not even shifting the seat bolted down, before it crumpled to the deck.

---------

Apollo felt like a fool, glancing again at Lia, trying to think of another way. _Any _other way. "I don't _believe_ this."

"Do it!" she growled, a fierce intensity in her brown eyes. The Command Centre had been waiting for a reply for almost the full thirty microns that they had been arguing about this.

_Just like when you were a kid_ . . .

Apollo pressed against his throat, speaking into the comm, and a natural vibrato that almost sounded convincing to his ears was transmitted. "This-is-upper-pulsar-station. Acknowledging-power-test-in-three-centons."

The resulting pause seemed eternal.

"_Received_."

He let out a breath of relief, glancing at her gleeful smile. As usual with Lia, it was infectious. "How did you even think of that?"

"Baltar," she replied with a smirk. "He does actually come in handy, sometimes. Now let's booby-trap this baby, and get out of here."

"You can say that again."

"Let's booby-trap this baby . . ."

---------

Enslaved trolls, doublewalkers, sorcery, Cylons in another dimension, a heroic Baltar, a mystical duel between Ama and Count Iblis, and a transformed race of Angylions that looked like angels out of his mother's old _Book Of The Word_ . . . and that was _before_ the fabricated "Alliance" and the attack of the "Borg". It was so completely absurd that even Commander Cain was seemingly struck dumb, shaking his head as he paced, while Baker, Jolly and Dietra finished their debriefing.

"Either Commander Mark Dayton is completely mad . . . or he's the most daring and brilliant tactician this side of the Cosmora Archipelago," Cain decided.

"Oh, he's mad," Baker shrugged, then added more seriously, "But I have to give credit where it's due. Malus thought of most of this when Dayton and Starbuck were taken captive. The rest of us had some input, including Baltar, but the gist of the plan came from our own Mal." He grinned at Porter. "That walking/talking mainframe is coming along nicely."

"That he is," Porter agreed.

"Hmm," Cain grunted, considering one final option. His implant had blown all its circuits, and he was really in a mental asylum. Well, if that was the case, it was best to play along . . . He glanced at Sheba. She had squeezed her way into the _Endeavour's _War Room not long after the meeting had started. Evidently, she had thought she would have more luck finding Boxey herself, and had flown over from the _Pegasus_ to do just that. "Did you find the boy?" he asked her.

"Not yet," she shook her head, returning her attention to the others. "This story is bizarre. And I definitely don't like the idea of Count Iblis being down there, anywhere _near _Apollo." She shuddered visibly, wrapping her arms around her.

"It's bad sci-fi meets even _worse_ fantasy," Baker replied. "Apollo wants us approaching this as though we're about to help defend the _Harbinger_ against the Borg. We're coming to her rescue, after all. And, until our people are off that ship, that's the scenario we're going with."

"The timing is crucial," Dietra added, glancing at her chrono. "We need to get back."

"I'm going to need you in the Control Centre as my Borg specialist, Baker," Dorado told him. "I haven't seen _Starbuck: The Next Generation_."

"Freudian slip, Captain?" Baker chuckled. "That's Star _Trek_."

"Right," Dorado winced, shaking his head slightly, rubbing at the throbbing behind his artificial eye. _Lords, whatever happened to the simple life? Flying a Viper, blasting Cylons, quaffing ambrosa with his buddies? Huh? What happened? _ "Okay everybody, let's get ready to . . . uh, _energize_."

"Aye, Cap'n!" Baker put on the brogue, turning to head for the Control Centre. "I'll just go check on the dilithium crystals!"

"Dilithium . . .?"

"It's a _Trek_ thing," Porter shrugged in way of explanation, before following.

Dorado nodded, before turning to the Juggernaut. "Commander Cain, can I escort you to the launch bay, sir?" he asked, as the others filed out. He didn't miss Cain's look of surprise and annoyance.

"Captain, you know that I can assume command of this vessel at any time based on your rank, and especially your inexperience," Cain warned him. It looked as though he was seriously considering it.

"Commander Cain, I'm about to take a ship that even our enemies know should have been decommissioned a hundred yahrens ago into another dimension using a science that I don't even truthfully understand," Dorado returned. "I'm not even sure if the _Endeavour_ will hold together, sir. However, what I _do_ know is that as both a military leader and icon, _you _are too important to our people to risk sacrificing on a mission that hinges on a plan put together and executed by a reformed Cylon as well the most notorious traitor of our time."

"Of _all _time, Captain," Cain snorted, considering the cybernetically enhanced warrior before him that had once been an able and talented young officer aboard the _Pegasus_,back when Sagan wore sandals. "Son, I was blowing smoke at superior officers when you were still in swaddling clothes . . ."

"Commander," Dorado cut in, his voice surprisingly brittle. "I need this chance . . . no, I _deserve_ this chance to prove to _you_ . . . " He paused, sucking in a breath and rubbing at his prosthetic eye, and then glancing back at Sheba who had paused behind him. Having a grace her father often lacked, she began backing out of the room. _Lords, she understands! _"Strike that, sir. I have to prove to _myself_ . . . that I can do this." He drew himself erect, meeting Cain's penetrating stare. "Sir."

Cain narrowed his eyes, looking the young man up and down appraisingly. Dorado had lost an eye, an arm, both his legs, and what else down on that planet? He was rebuilding his career and his life. Well, after his own cranial implant and enough medical leave to make Cain sick, it struck just a little too close to home . . . "Can you? _Can_ you do it?"

"Damn right. Sir," Dorado replied softly.

"I can't _hear_ you, Captain . . ." the Juggernaut replied.

"_Damn right, Sir_!" Dorado returned sharply, snapping to attention.

Cain nodded. "Then get your astrum to your Command Centre, son. I can see myself off."

"Thank you, Sir," Dorado nodded.

"Just don't make me regret it."

"I won't," Dorado replied, now heading down the corridor with a spring in his step . . . which was feasible considering his new "bionic" legs, as the Earthmen called them.

"Dorado!" Sheba hollered after him, suddenly there again. _ She'd been waiting._

"Yo?" he turned.

"I want to come with you! I haven't found Boxey! If I let anything happen to Apollo's son . . ." she shook her head, her features tight with worry. They both looked to Cain. Wordlessly, he nodded.

"Welcome aboard, Captain!" Dorado called back to her, before heading for the Control Centre as quickly as he could.

----------

Trapped within Iblis' domain—the darkness, the terrifying blackness that was his soul—the energy was so intense and raw that Ama involuntarily cried out as it pummelled her. Not only did it flow around her, it penetrated her existence like a storm, threatening to tear her apart. Still, she had to submit to this, at least for now. She had to give him a chance, if only for the sake of her mother. However, as her strength waned, in the far recesses of conscious thought, she could detect Iblis. Watching. Waiting. Assessing.

Like a crawlon.

In that instant she knew that he was her _birth_ father only. Any trace of the man that Arion had once been was gone. There was no hope for this creature of darkness that would attack his own child so mercilessly and cruelly.

The truth, however painful, grounded her.

"Oh Holy Mother, lend me your strength . . ." she cried, lifting her hands upwards, seeking Triquetra's guidance . . . her presence. She could feel a familiar tingling in her fingertips, and she focussed intently, feeling her own powers swell as her goddess listened to her plea.

Iblis laughed derisively, and the sound penetrated her body and soul. Instead of deflecting it, she instead embraced it. Energy was vitality, no matter its source. One only needed to know how to manipulate it.

"There is no_ goddess _Triquetra," the scornful words penetrated her like spears. "There is none but _me_! Ridiculous child! Impertinent whelp! You are alone! You are mine!"

"I belong to my children, my people!" she hollered back at him, as her life force surrounded her, basking her in an invigorating radiance, as she refuted his lies. "I _might_ have been yours, had you acknowledged me before now, Iblis. Had you stayed with us, my mother and I. But not _now_," she avowed. Then she smiled triumphantly. "Now . . . since you invited me in, Evil One . . ."

"_Evil One_ . . ." he breathed in contempt.

With a deep breath her powers expanded, until it felt as though she could embrace the entire universe from within Iblis' soul. Triquetra, Annica, and surely the Beings of Light had to be with her now, all lending their limitless powers to her cause. She could hear Iblis' roar of rage, as she delved into his consciousness, and images raced through her mind.

A youngster, curious and rebellious, he had ignored the limitations put on him by the Guardians of the universe. It seemed preposterous, having the ability to wander the universe at will, being perceived by inferior Beings as a god, and to _not_ interact with them! Iblis had not been content to observe, but had instead found a simple pleasure in interfering and influencing, breaking the laws that the Elders had implemented upon their own kind eons ago. Actually, breaking their ridiculous rules was as rewarding as being idolized, or feared, by mere . . . _peons_, depending how his mood struck him. Watching the universe unfold before him was becoming mundane and tiresome, and better suited for more intellectually inferior and insipid creatures. He would rather leave a mark on the moulding of the galaxy, playing with planets, suns, entire solar systems, manipulating the development of entire races, societies, empires. Then, he had discovered a race that was easily seduced by his lies. Man. Yet, for all their weaknesses and frailties, ironically, Mankind came eventually to distrust him, considering him evil, and turning away from him. Moving on, he manipulated a quarrelsome and aggressive Reptilian race to build a cybernetic army, which eventually consumed them. Then for his further amusement, he turned them on the humans that had grown to despise him, ungenerously characterising him as _Diabolis_.

At that point, the Guardians had searched for him, seeking to punish him, and to diminish his powers. That was when he'd found the sleepy little planet known as Empyrean. There he had lived as a mere man, lying low, and against all odds, finding love with a gentle and beautiful creature called Annica. It was a pleasant diversion while it had lasted. His time with her was something he treasured, but after several yahrens he grew bored with the tedium of a daily routine on a backwater planet. He began to disappear for short periods, stretching his powers once again, and exploring the universe. Annica hadn't been content with the change in their relationship, not accepting his sketchy explanations, and demanding what he could not give.

_All_ of him.

She began to pray to her goddess, seeking answers. Her pleas were heard, but by the Guardians of Light. Through Annica's pleading—her betrayal—they found him, removing him from Empyrean, and exiling him from contact with impressionable and malleable Beings.

They were gullible enough to think he would actually obey . . .

"NO!" Iblis roared, repelling Ama's invasion.

Abruptly, the images of his life disappeared, as though a black curtain had fallen over them. She could feel his power clashing against her own. A roar filled her ears, but she refocused, reaching further . . . gathering the forces of light and truth within her . . . seeking answers that he tried to shield from her . . . a little bit further . . . there was something more that she knew she had to see . . . their very survival might depend upon it.

---------

"Okay, get me a fix. Where in Hades half hectare _are_ we?" Dorado called out as he blinked to clear his vision. The scanners were still coming back on-line after their trip between dimensions, and the gravity was having hiccoughs. _Frack_! So were the rest of them after feeling as though they had been strapped naked to a Viper and launched at full turbos! Most of his face was still somewhere behind his ears, and he was sure he'd left his breakfast somewhere on the interdimensional highway . . .

"We're . . . somewhere . . .sir . . ." Sagaris muttered in confusion. "I don't have a reference point, Captain."

"Somewhere," Dorado repeated. "Great. Just great." He drew in a deep breath, letting it out as Sheba stood up unsteadily beside him. He reached out an arm to steady her. "Okay, reset the navigational reference point to indicate Alpha Zero, Cadet. Just like in the sims we do in class. We'll start again."

"Yes, sir," responded the other, moving as if he were at least a hundred.

"Sometime before my nap, Sagaris," Dorado reminded him after another moment.

"Aye, Captain," the cadet replied, trying to pick up the pace. After a few moments, his reset board began to give data on the surrounding region of space. Navigational references, physical data, the works. He smiled. "We are in a new solar system, sir. Single sun, Class Gamma-Three. And . . ." _Click, click. __"_I'm picking up a planet, Beta ten mark four. Range . . . sixteen point six million kilometrons."

"Good man," Dorado smiled. He turned to the helm, and ordered the ship brought about, heading for the planet. Then, turning back to Sagaris: "What've we got?"

"Delta class, sir. Mass point oh nine four of Caprica norm. Breathable atmosphere. Compatible with Human life, and . . ."

"My favourite," grinned Dorado. "What else?"

"There's a big ole Base Ship down there, Captain!" Sagaris grinned, putting the scans up for Dorado to see. fter a few moments, the image of a Base Ship on the surface grew clearer as they approached. "We've found them!"

"Never doubted we would for a centon," Dorado returned, shaking his head at Baker.

"Of course, you didn't," the Earthman returned. "Helm, ETA orbit attitude?"

"Orbit insertion in four centons, sir," replied the other.

"All right, people. This is it," Dorado pointed to Pierus at communications.

"Showtime!" grinned Baker.

---------

There had to be close to three hundred and fifty Cylon centurions in here, all standing in perfectly straight rows, all rigidly at attention. Baltar continued to nod his approval, his hands clasped behind his back, as he accompanied Malus and Mendax. A fine bead of sweat trickled down his back. It was time.

"Let me see that, Centurion," Malus said, taking a Cylon Pulse Rifle and looking at it closely. "It isn't fully charged." He glanced at Mendax. "Is it not procedure to fully recharge all pulse rifles?"

"Of late, we've been diverting our energy elsewhere to get our systems up and running, while we prepare to lift off," Mendax explained. "And with our . . . _ahem_, good neighbour policy with the locals, maintaining fully charged weapons hasn't been a priority."

"Reasonable," Baltar replied. "I overheard you mention that you have a member of their royalty aboard. A prince, I believe."

"Prince Llewelyn," Mendax nodded. "Unfortunately, he was stricken with some. . . malady, shortly after coming aboard, and is quite ill. We have been trying to do what we can with our limited medical knowledge of their people to save him."

"Will he survive?" Malus asked sharply.

"I will be examining his medical scans shortly, to ascertain just that," Mendax replied.

"I . . . see . . ." Malus stuttered.

"I'm sure they're doing all they can, Admiral," Baltar added, his tone compassionate.

"_Are_ you, Baltar?" Malus replied flatly.

A centurion approached from the right, coming to a stop before them. "By-your-command."

"Speak-Centurion," Baltar ordered, falling all too easily back into his previous role.

"The-_Harrower_-has-contacted-us-from-orbit."

"Ah, they've arrived," Baltar nodded, his relief camouflaged behind an unctuous smile. "Very good." He looked at Malus.

"And-an-army-of-Angylions-is-attacking," the Cylon continued.

"Attacking _what_, Centurion?" Mendax asked.

"Attacking-us."

---------

"Kid!" Dayton said, discarding Mendax's smouldering cloak, and quickly moving to Starbuck's side in the Brig. He patted the warrior's cheek, gently grabbing his face and studying him, making sure he was okay . . . or at least as okay as you could be after being brain probed. A low groan escaped Starbuck's throat and his eyes flickered open, unseeingly. He gazed blankly at Dayton, blinking a few times, his breathing suddenly ragged.

"Easy, _Café Ole_," Dayton murmured, wincing at the bruises and scrapes on Starbuck's wrists as he squatted down before him, while eying the restraints that secured hands and feet. The kid had been fighting. Dayton smiled. From Starbuck he would expect no less. "Don't worry, I've gotcha."

He studied the restraints that appeared to be part of the chair itself. The shackles were tight, and he couldn't open them. From the looks of the blinking box on the right arm of the unit, he could tell it was some sort of centralized electronic lock. Input the code, and it would pop all four bands. Well, he wasn't going to waste time searching for either code or key. He hefted his weapon again, and pressed the gun against the control pad—Mendax's robe wrapped around it—and fired. It blew apart in a ball of sparks, and the shackles popped open.

Abruptly, the warrior went rigid, then violently shoved against Dayton, hurling him to the deck with a strangled, "_NO_!"

What happened next might have been funny in any other circumstances, as the young man bolted upward from the seat, unbeknownst to him, his ankle snagged by one partially opened restraint. He leapt forward, a crazed look in his eyes, and then was stopped short, tumbling to the deck. Yeah . . . that first step was a doozie.

Dayton leapt towards Starbuck, quickly straddling him, and grabbing his wrists as the warrior fought frantically in his grip, possibly caught in some kind of flashback or waking nightmare. Lord knew what was going on in his mind, but he definitely wasn't in the here and now, as he cursed a blue streak that would make a teamster blush.

"I don't_ know_. . ." the young man snarled between clenched teeth, bucking like a bronco, straining beneath Dayton's weight. "I don't know the . . . frackin' command code . . . you mong-eating piece of festering felger . . ."

"Starbuck!" the Earthman yelled, battling to just keep a grip on the struggling warrior. "It's me! It's _Dayton_! Listen to me!" He leaned down close enough to stare him in the eyes. "_Starbuck_!" he hollered again.

Then, as if by some kind of miracle, awareness slowly entered the strike captain's eyes. His struggles gradually decreased in intensity, and then ceased altogether as he gazed up at his commander, his breathing rapid and shallow.

"Dayton . . .?" he rasped, licking dry lips, a slight tremor running through him. He clenched his hands into fists, as he looked around uncertainly. His eyes locked on to the Brain Probe for a long moment, his jaw clenching tightly, before returning his attention to Dayton.

"Yeah, it's me," Dayton returned softly, loosening his grip on the pilot. "How ya doin', kid?"

Starbuck visibly struggled to compose himself, taking several more moments, before replying shakily, "I'd be better if. . . if you'd get off of me." He pasted a wan smile on his face. "You could stand to miss a meal or two, Old Man."

"God, you sound like my sister!" Dayton sniffed in amusement, climbing off the younger man. "Well, you _seem_ to be your contrary self . . ." He put a hand down to help Starbuck up.

Weirdly, Starbuck stared at the outstretched hand suspiciously, as though it was something venomous waiting to strike.

"You want I should wash it?" Dayton quipped, raising an eyebrow.

The answering smile wasn't one of Starbuck's best. Reluctantly, the captain gripped the hand, and was abruptly pulled to his feet. He swayed for a moment, paling, his eyes growing wide as he grasped at Dayton.

"All right?" Dayton asked in concern, transferring his grip to Starbuck's arm to support him. He'd almost forgotten about the concussion.

"I'm . . . I'm fine." The younger man nodded dismissively, dropping his gaze from his commanding officer and waving the hand off. Then he looked around at the fallen centurions, automatically relieving them of their weapons. "Not too bad," he murmured, hefting a rifle.

"_Not too bad_," Dayton returned with a snort. "You should have seen it. I told them I was looking for my sewing machine . . ." he grinned, but then paused when he saw the look on Starbuck's face, as the warrior hesitated before the control panel for the Brain Probe.

It was as though he was in a trance, standing staring at the interrogation device. He'd tuned Dayton completely out, that was for sure. Then Starbuck's eyes narrowed calculatingly as he regarded the instrument they had just used on him, and then the dome that they had lowered over him. A slight shudder ran through him, and he drew another deep breath, sucking it in noisily between his teeth. _If looks could kill . . ._

"Starbuck?" Dayton asked, getting a bad feeling.

Without even acknowledging the voice, Starbuck aimed the Cylon pulse rifle at the control panel and fired, blowing a hole in it the size of a centurion. Dayton jumped back, covering his face as sparks lit the machinery up like the Fourth of July, while smoke spewed into the room.

"What the _hell _are you doing?" Dayton roared.

Aiming this time at the dome, Starbuck pulled the trigger again. Nothing happened. With a look of disgust, he dropped the first weapon and grabbed up the other pulse rifle, firing. The dome burst into a million fragments that flew across the room.

_Whooooooooooooop! Whoooooooooooooop! Whooooooooooooooop!_

"Shit!" Dayton yelled, as the alarm sounded. He grabbed Starbuck by the arm, giving him a rough shake. "Who do you think you are! _Me_?" He pushed him towards the hatch. "Let's go!"


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Report, Centurion!" Mendax ordered as he entered the Command Centre with Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar following closely behind.

"By-your-command. Communications-with-our-ground-forces-are-down. They-are-not-responding. Attempts-at-engaging-batteries, negative. Failure-code-'error-access-denied'. The-Angylion . . . "

"_Batteries_?" Malus asked, seemingly aghast. "You'd _fire_ on humanoids?"

"Surely not!" Baltar added, as he joined in. He placed a hand on the lieutenant's arm.

"It's against the treaty!" Luana added vehemently. "You'll destroy ten yahrens of peace!"

"Only as a warning," Mendax hastily explained, immediately suspicious that systems that had previously been functional were now down. Had Malus sabotaged his ship when he had interfaced with the central computer system? Was this alliance, that seemed too bizarre to be true, some kind of ruse? But why the elaborate hoax? And why would the IL, or for that matter _any _Cylon, be a party to it? He had to proceed cautiously . . . "Obviously, the Angylions have gone quite mad to suddenly turn against us, their sworn protectors. I suspect it must be due to the religious rituals they have been demonstrating lately. Humanoids seem to become very unpredictable during such times. I have noticed unusual goings on at their so-called Holy Sanctum, atop the mountain, but our attempts to investigate resulted in a missing shuttlecraft and Raider. Telemetry-analysis registered 'destruct' on the fightercraft." He turned to the centurion at that station, adding, "Attempt to reinitialise once again, Centurion."

"Yes, humans are rather passionate Beings . . ." Malus had to agree.

"Commander-Mendax, the-Angylion-prince-is-also-missing," the same centurion added. "A-fire-was-contained-and-extinguished-in-the . . ."

"In his quarters?" Mendax inserted quickly, his lights speeding up as he tied in the absent Dayton with the prince's oh-so-timely escape. Obviously, they were connected. "Find him, Centurion. And locate the manservant. I rather suspect they'll be together."

"And then bring them to the Command Centre," Malus added. "In the name of the Imperious Leader . . . I should very much like to meet this Angylion prince."

"And perhaps the manservant could mend my cloak," Baltar added with a grin, swirling his own dark cloak dramatically.

"By-your-command," the centurion replied, reissuing the orders to his subordinates.

"Captain-Dorado-of-the-_Harrower_-standing-by," the centurion at the comm reported.

"Put him through," Baltar again intervened.

"Go ahead, Centurion," Mendax nodded, when the Cylon hesitated. "And begin the final preparations for lift-off."

"By-your-command."

Dorado's image came up on screen. "Commander Mendax, I have no time to waste on pleasantries. Koivee Outpost has reported Borg activity on their long-range scanners, moving at very high speed, in our direction. The Borg are soon expected in this quadrant..

"Koivee . . ." Mendax began to ask, not familiar with it.

"Are Admiral Malus and Commander Baltar aboard?" Dorado sped ahead.

"If you don't mind, Mendax," Malus pushed him aside. "We are, Captain."

"Your timing couldn't be better, Captain," Baltar nodded approvingly. "Especially with the _Harbinger_'s batteries, so we have discovered, not functional currently."

"Commander," Dorado nodded, his features carefully composed as he gazed on the traitor, who actually was offering tactical information that could compromise the enemy. Then the _Harbinger_'s commander was back. "Commander Mendax, we must arm you with Microsoft OS as soon as possible." He glanced off screen, and then back again. "We have a shuttle of specialists and a squadron of fighters preparing to launch."

"A _squadron_ of fighters?" Mendax repeated. "Isn't that a little . . . _excessive_?"

"If the Borg vessel energizes while you're unarmed, you'll be helpless. You _will _be assimilated. I'm trying to protect your ship, and your crew as well, Commander."

"My apologies, Captain Dorado," Mendax replied, diplomatically. "Until a centar ago, I thought that the Colonies and Cylon were still at war. Even with the delicate inroads that we've made with humanoids in our own little corner of this dimension, it's difficult to comprehend . . ."

"Of course, I think I understand," Dorado nodded, looking off-monitor once again. "Get me a blade."

As Mendax waited, the '_Harrower_'captain rolled up the sleeve of the same dark uniform that Lieutenant Luana was wearing. He then held up a blade, and with a deliberate move, neatly sliced through his flesh at the wrist, severing it circumferentially for the benefit of the vid-feed. His expression remained impartial as he started pushing back the very human-looking flesh to reveal a cybernetic limb beneath. The _Harrower_ officer was a Human-Cylon construct of some sort! It was startling, and yet it substantiated Malus' story more effectively than anything else he had yet offered, other than the evidence of the modified Raider in their landing bay. Mendax's brain began flashing even faster, as he strove to take all this in.

"Perhaps this will ease your cybernetic mind, Commander?" Captain Dorado smiled acerbically.

"It just might, Captain," the IL replied. "We are preparing to take off. Direct your team to Landing Bay Alpha once we achieve orbit."

"Aye, Commander. We shall be ready for you. Captain Dorado out."

----------

A drill boring through his brain, grinding through his skull, with no way to stop it. Ravaging, tearing away at his mind, revealing everything, and there was no defence. All his training, all his experience, nothing could stop the onslaught of memories, good and bad, from pummelling Starbuck, overwhelming him. Jerked from one phase of his life to the next, flipping through every pivotal event—even the ones he had suppressed out of an instinct for survival—nothing could prevent the Cylons from getting everything they wanted. Every tiny fragment, every particle of what he was . . .

All that was left was self-loathing. Disgust. A burning anger.

He had thought that destroying the Brain Probe, blowing it to Hades Hole, would somehow erase the black mark against him. It would even the score, set him on an even keel. And yeah, it had felt good to see the machine blown to bits, alongside his tormentors. All reduced to smoking chunks. _But_ . . . but, he had alerted the Cylons of his escape, putting both himself and Dayton in further danger, eliminating any advantage that the commander had gained them on this mission. He'd screwed up royally. He had to set it right. It was all his fault. To find out after all this time . . . his breath caught in his throat as it burned through his brain. _All_ his fault . . .

He poured on the speed, escaping the ringing in his ears and the smell of smoke as he ran into the desolate night. Had to find . . . tearing through the brambles . . . he couldn't get the terrifying scream out of his mind, or the taste of fear out of his mouth . . . where _was _she?

_Mama!!!_

"Starbuck!"

The yell snapped him out of his flashback, and he glanced over his shoulder to see . . . _Dayton?_ His chest burned from exertion as he looked around in consternation at his surroundings. A ship . . . a Cylon Base Ship. Pulled from one memory to another . . . or was this real? He nodded slightly, holding out a hand to fleetingly touch the bulkhead, making sure it was solid, as a firestorm of memories raged against him once again. He stumbled under the onslaught, trying to ground himself, before he was pulled back into the maelstrom . . .

_Get it together, Bucko!_

The _Endeavour_'s commander had fallen behind him, as they raced down the corridors of the Cylon Base Ship. With an effort, Starbuck slowed his pace, waiting for the older man to catch up while adrenaline coursed through the young warrior's body. His heart was pounding in tune with his head, and he wiped at his face, slick with sweat. He couldn't shake the urgency, the compulsion to keep going. It consumed him. It was the driving force that kept him moving, when his head was threatening to blow apart. No . . . he couldn't stop. He had to get there. _Mama! Where are you, Mama? __ He had to_get past the Cylons while he could . . . _brambles tearing at his clothes, his bare feet . . . which way now? _ No time to waste . . . He began to pick up the pace again.

"Hold up, _Espresso Buzz_!" A micron later, louder . . . "That's a goddamn order!"

Then a hand gripped his arm, and pulled him up short, jerking him around.

"Where the _hell _do you think you're going?" Dayton asked breathlessly, sweat running off his brow in torrents.

"Gotta find her . . ." Starbuck panted, pulling against the Earthman's grip, bent on resuming his search.

"Luana?" Dayton asked, his grip tightening as his brow wrinkled in confusion. "Are you talking about your wife?"

"Huh?" Starbuck replied, as images of Luana assailed his mind while Dayton pushed him up against a bulkhead insistently. His . . . his _wife_ . . . "Lu's here?"

"Bloody hell!" Dayton spat, giving Starbuck a shake. "Where _are_ you?"

The question caught him off guard, setting off his internal klaxon, and he automatically looked around. Something wasn't right. Still, he knew this place . . . "Base Ship."

"_What_ Base Ship?" Dayton demanded.

More images flooded his senses. Baltar on a pedestal, smiling unctuously down at him. Being restrained into a chair, and the Brain Probe lowering. Apollo dropping Boomer's transponder. The first look at the _Abaddon_. Lucifer escorting him from the Brig. Sneaking through the Cylon landing bay, to the Central Core. A sword fight . . .

"_What _Base Ship?" Dayton repeated, even more insistently.

"I . . . uh . . ." There was a roaring in his ears, and his chest burned. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs. Dayton's eyes bored into him, demanding answers. Answers that he couldn't seem to find struggling against the crushing onslaught of images. . .

"_What_. . ." _ SMACK!!!!!_ "Base . . ." _SMACK!!!_ "Ship???"

The sharp sting on the left side of his face obliterated everything else. Bizarre and conflicting images and memories retreated like an ebbing tide . . . leaving only the lingering stench of fear and confusion. Starbuck touched his cheek, feeling the heat rising up from it as Dayton studied him appraisingly.

"Thanks," the warrior murmured uncomfortably, dropping his gaze. "I, uh . . . I really think I needed that."

"No kidding, _Caffeine Coma_," Dayton replied, looking relieved. "Now, follow me."

----------

A planet far, far away, but so like her own, that bittersweet memories of Empyrean, and the simple life she had left behind, swept over her. Across the universe, riding a wave of Iblis' thoughts, they took her mind to a place that so many sought for vastly dichotomous reasons: hope, survival, a future . . . or the destruction of the rumoured Thirteenth Tribe of Mankind, and the annihilation of a possible refuge for a ragtag Fleet of survivors that were destined for extinction, if Iblis had his way.

_No!_ Not while she was still breathing, would Ama allow that to occur!

The countryside rolling by beneath her reminded her of the Earthmen's _Journey to Earth_ production, as she gazed down on the beauty that was the blue and white planet. Pyramids almost identical to their motherworld's, huge and sprawling cities, deserts of sere and windswept beauty, fields of blinding white ice, rolling green hills and burbling brooks, vast amounts of water, yet sufficient land and resources for the present population, plus a few refugees from across the Heavens—it was the paradise they all hoped for.

Yet, however tempting, she wasn't here to sightsee. She had come with a purpose in mind as she soared through a mountainous region, finally ending up at a secluded valley, before a huge set of massive steel doors. Her mind reached out, and she understood. It was military base built into a mountainside. Deep within were the men she had been looking for. With a thought, she was inside.

But something had gone disastrously wrong.

Painfully thin, lines of worry etched into his features, Captain Richard "Dick" Dickins, USN, and late of the Space Shuttle _Endeavour_ was confined alone in a cell. Ama could feel his helplessness, his desperation, his disappointment, even as he finally dwelled back in his homeland. It was the kind of emotion that could drive a sane man over the edge . . . and one who had been there before, to suicide.

Yet it wasn't a wave of sorrow which she was detecting from Dickins, instead it was anger. A deep, burning resentment at his treatment by his own people, and a concern for his fellow traveller from the other side of the universe. A man who didn't understand the language, save for a few words and phrases, and who had relied upon a Languatron of dubious programming with which to communicate, which had long since been disassembled and meticulously examined piece by piece.

Three metrons away, and in a cell apart from Dickins was Hummer. A Colonial science technician with enough information and genius that he could have helped prepare Earth for an invasion from the Cylons. But, like Dickins, instead of being regaled as a hero, or treated with the respect due a visiting dignitary, he had been interrogated, phlebotomized, examined, and locked away. She could sense his despair, sorrow and regret. How long had it been since he spoke to someone in his own tongue that didn't look back at him with suspicion, distrust and contempt? How long had it been since he had even spoken, because when he did they repeatedly called him a "terrorist" or "fanatic", words he did not understand, but which he needed no Languatron to know weren't terms of endearment. He thought he had come to contribute to the salvation of his people, but he had instead failed them. And he would rot in the Brig of these "Americans" who had a society, or at least members of it, that were too afraid to accept Cyborgs as anything other than fictional creations.

Ama's heart went out to them, but there was naught she could do, at least for now. Try as she might to connect with them, she felt the pull of Iblis jerking her away from what he would have remain secret. She could feel his rage as he realized that his attempt to consume her, had culminated in his spawn's victory. Desperately, she tried to cast a thought to the captive men, but was violently wrenched away. As she was pulled back to Morlais, she caught a final glimpse of the wreck of a Cylon Raider on the Earth's moon. Within, she knew, was a Cylon IL who had activated a long-range beacon that the superpowers of Earth were still arguing over.

And not enough light yahrens away by far was Commander Syphax of the _Abaddon_-class Base Ship, _Ravager, _responding to the call.

----------

"I know this isn't exactly a good time, but could I have a centon?" Sheba asked, brushing a lock of hair back off her face as she took Dorado aside in the Control Centre.

The acting CO turned to regard the _Pegasus_ strike captain, not missing the determination in her brown eyes, the posture of her body, and the tilt of her head. Her hand rested lightly on her weapon . . . so typical of the Colonial Warrior about to do battle.

"How about thirty microns?" he returned, his voice relaxed as he lightly touched her arm with his _good_ hand. His _real_ hand.

"Forty-five," she countered with a faint smile, relaxing ever so slightly with the friendly banter.

"Forty?"

"Done." She paused only long enough for him to tap his chrono. "I want to go on the mission."

"Are you afraid Boxey will now stow away in the shuttle to the _Harbinger_, and you want to be prepared for every eventuality?" he countered, seeing her back go up instantly.

"Boxey _is_ missing . . ." she returned adamantly.

"And you want to go look for him on a Cylon Base Ship that we found in a different dimension?" he countered. "C'mon, Sheba. I may not be Bojay, but I flew with you on the _Pegasus_ long enough to know how that mind works. You're worried about Apollo, and you want to be a part of the mission."

"There's more to it than that, Dorado," she insisted.

"But it doesn't involve Boxey," he added.

"_No_ . . ." she admitted, pouting ever so slightly, in that way that only Sheba could get away with. "Count Iblis. He's . . . _evil_."

"Yeah, well the Cylons haven't exactly been nominated for citizenship awards in this quadrant either."

"Iblis is worse than any Cylon, Dorado. If he's a part of this . . ." She hesitated, looking away as though she was considering her words carefully. "I'm going to be honest with you."

"I'd appreciate that," he replied, nodding. He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling at his sleeve when he noticed the mess he'd made of his cybernetic arm when he'd cut it open to show the Cylon commander.

"You've heard that Count Iblis made an impact on the Fleet when we first came across him." Sheba frowned, letting out a breath before seeking out his gaze reluctantly. "But he also made an impact on me, _personally_." She straightened her back, as though it would give her the courage to finish what she wanted to say. "And I'm not proud of how I reacted to him . . . in fact, I'm _ashamed_ of how easily he influenced me, recognizing my weaknesses . . . exploiting them."

The shift from fellow officer to friend, it came as easily to Dorado now, as when he'd been in the Caprican Academy with Starbuck and Apollo. His instructors had criticized him for it, and had told him it would hold him back professionally. "They described Iblis as a demon, Sheba. Diabolis. Otherworldly. Don't you think maybe you're being too hard on yourself?" he asked quietly, drawing her further away from the others. This was so typical of the Juggernaut's daughter. Just when he thought she was mimicking her stubborn father, she revealed her depth of character and vulnerability. He considered himself honoured that she was willing to confide in him.

"In a word: no," she replied, her self-derision plain. "Apollo could have lost his life for my actions. I was immature . . . naïve . . . too trusting . . . too eager to find in Iblis what I had lost when . . . my father disappeared . . .when you _all _did with the _Pegasus_ . . ." For a moment she was quiet, a subtle sadness infecting her as her thoughts travelled back to another time, another place. Then she lifted her chin, meeting his searching gaze. "Have you ever felt as if you needed to atone for something in your life, Dorado? Have you ever wanted to have a second chance to prove to yourself that you're not a complete fool?"

"Is that what you're asking for, Sheba?"

She nodded.

He stared at her for several microns, weighing regulations against personal growth. She waited impatiently, shifting restlessly under his gaze. "Then suit up, Captain, and report to Lieutenant Jolly in Beta Bay. I've already told him that he's in charge, Sheba."

"And so he _should_ be. This is too personal for me to take charge of the mission," Sheba acknowledged, leaning forward and lightly kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

"Er . . . that's no way to . . . uh . . . to treat a fellow officer, Captain," he returned a little awkwardly. When was the last time that _any_ woman—other than a med tech—had been this close to him, never mind _kissed_ him? He had moved from "eligible bachelor" to the "freak" list, after his accident.

"But it's customary for a friend," she returned, the moistness in her eyes barely detectable. "Thank you, my dear, dear Dorado."

"My dear, dear Dorado, huh? Sounds like one of those Backwoods songs about a hovermobile that were becoming popular on Libra. I can almost hear the twang . . ." he replied lightly, pointing towards the hatch. "Get going, Sheba, or you're gonna miss your flight."

"You've been hanging out with Starbuck too long," she returned with a laugh.

"We _all_ have," he returned with a smile, his heart a little lighter, as she headed for the bay. There was no doubt about it, Apollo was one lucky guy.

----------

On their first attack wave, the Cylons had fired their weapons directly into the mass of approaching Angylions, cutting down much of their first line. Prince Glynn, however, had been spared, as though protected from high above, from the Infinite. With a fierce determination and rage brought about by ten years of slavery, the Angylions had rushed the Cylons, their mighty army crushing the dwindling Cylon forces as they advanced on the Base Ship.

With a battle cry that could turn a man's blood to ice, Prince Glynn hurled himself off a rock ledge, his sword already beginning its downward arc before he hit the ground, cleaving in two the Cylon that was bent on attacking one of his men from behind. The Cylon fell, spewing sparks, its head toppling into the mud.

"Onward!" Glynn cried, feeling the divinity surge through him as they pressed on towards the Base Ship. "For the glory of Morlais!"

"_Morlais_!" one of his men echoed from nearby, before the rare blast of a laser volley cut him down.

Glynn snarled in rage, raising his sword in front of him as he sped forward. Around him, Cylons were going down, as they were overwhelmed by numbers, falling under swords, mattocks, mining picks, rocks, whatever else the Angylions could find to wield. He could sense his father on one side, and his grandfather on his other. The blood of his ancestors raced through his body, empowering him, making him invincible. Immortal. The Cylon in his path turned, aiming its murderous weapon once again, not intimidated in the least by certain death staring it in its oscillating red eye. The young prince ducked as the centurion fired, then rushed the enemy, his sword holding true, piercing its plating, running him through. Cylon armour was no match for a perfectly forged Angylion blade. The Cylon shuddered, its red light extinguishing as it crumpled to the ground, pulling Glynn and his sword down with it.

Breathing hard, Glynn regained his feet, bracing a foot on the centurion's chest as he jerked his sword free. A sudden noise from the Cylon ship demanded his attention. The ground began to tremble as he turned to look . . .

"_My Lord_!"

Instinctively, Glynn threw himself to the side, rolling away, even as a burning pain cut across his chest. Time seemed to freeze, as he rolled onto his back. For a moment he could see his forefathers gathered over him, generations of Angylion swordsmen and nobility keeping watch. It was comforting and frightening at the same time. A sudden agony lanced through him as he drew a ragged breath. When he opened his eyes again, his ancestors were gone, replaced by an image of the Cylon ship.

It was _hissing_! Like a serpent, or water on a hot stone, the hated enemy monstrosity was filling the whole valley with a strange sound. Whatever foul power drove it, it was once more awake. He stared in bemusement as it slowly started to float in the air, gradually obliterating the murky sky, as a strange humming filling his senses, the bottom of the ship glowing with a sickly green-white radiance. Higher and higher it flew, like a black demon rearing up from the Underworld, threatening to devour them. He groaned, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to his right side, feeling the sticky warmth spreading across his tunic. It was up to their doublewalkers now. To the Colonials.

"Prince Glynn!" The Angylion warrior, himself bloody and wounded, rushed to his side.

"I be . . . fine, Jac," Glynn returned, breathlessly, as the Angylion's hand pushed his away, checking his wound.

"Find Eirys!" Jac hissed at another, pressing down hard as a groan was torn from the prince's throat. "And Llewelyn!"

"I be fine enough . . ." Glynn gasped, as pain burnt a fiery path across his chest, stealing his breath, while his vision greyed around the edges.

----------

Apollo shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling of apprehension that suddenly and unexpectedly hit him. _A shadow passing over your grave . . . _ It wasn't the most affable of images to come to a guy while sneaking around on a grounded Cylon Base Ship, or _any_ Base Ship for that matter, and was made even less so by the realization that they had just launched.

That slight sensation that the ship was "alive" was something a warrior noticed after living aboard battleships for enough yahrens. The constant rumbling background of white noise wasn't really noticeable . . . unless it stopped. And this ship had been eerily quiet up until now.

"You okay?" Lia whispered, pausing by the open hatch.

"Fine," Apollo nodded, feeling her watchful eyes upon him. Although he knew she was only Ama's goddaughter, and not related by blood, the young ensign had some of the Empyrean necromancer's talents for reading emotions. It unsettled him that she could see through his apparently calm demeanour with all the ease of condensed tylinium. "The Brig should be down three levels . . ." he paused as she squeezed his arm.

"I know," she told him, smiling slightly.

He nodded, abashed. "Right. Of course, you do." This ship was identical to the _Endeavour_, save the refits. Momentarily, he wondered if the Covert Operations Ship had made it through to this dimension. Malus had calculated the risks, and the decision to bring them over was a sound one. Of course, occasionally even sound decisions ended in disaster. It was a chance he had to take. One he would need to live with . . . or die for.

"Apollo!" Lia whispered urgently, peering downward into the hatch.

He leaned down alongside her, catching sight of movement, at the same time as he heard the sound of footsteps scaling the ladder. Then he exhaled in relief when he recognized the closely cropped grey head coming towards them.

"Dayton!" Apollo whispered.

In a flash, the barrel of a laser was pointed towards them from a few metrons away. A micron later it lowered to display an answering grin that looked sparkling white on a dirt streaked face. "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes!" the _Endeavour _commander told them, before glancing down the ladder just below him. "How ya doin', kid? Still with me?" he called down.

"No, I'm picking Wild Thornberries in Umbra," came the caustic reply. "Want one?"

"I was wondering what was taking you so long," Dayton threw back at him, as he started to climb through the hatch. His uniform was tattered and filthy, almost unrecognisable as being Colonial in origin. "Get a move on, we just found Apollo and Lia."

"Starbuck's with you?" Apollo confirmed, not missing the concerned look the Earthman cast down at the damp, matted dark-blond head coming up behind him.

"In the flesh," Starbuck announced, climbing up, a Cylon rifle in his grip. His gaze skipped over them, before he glanced up and down the empty corridor. "What did you expect?"

He looked like several levels of Hades Hole. Starbuck's lean form was taut with tension, like a coiled spring about to let go. His clothes were damp with sweat, ragged and bloody in several spots. A dark bruise covered the left side of his jaw. However, he didn't breathe a word about any of it . . .

"You okay?" Apollo asked in concern.

"Starbuck!" Lia stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her brother-in-law.

The warrior startled almost imperceptibly, before slowly enfolding her in his arms, and then letting out a deep, ragged breath. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, his body visibly relaxing as he embraced her.

"What happened?" Apollo asked their commander.

"Brain Probe," Dayton replied quietly. "We smoked the trash cans that were working him over, but . . . he's a bit scrambled."

"But he's not _deaf_," Starbuck glanced at them, pulling back from Lia. "Where's Lu?"

"With Malus and, believe it or not, Baltar," Lia replied, glancing at her chrono. "Probably in the Control Centre."

"_What?_" Starbuck looked sick.

"Easy, buddy," Apollo reassured him, filling both men in on the plan as Lia kept watch.

"I'm impressed," Dayton nodded approvingly.

Starbuck merely nodded, swallowing convulsively. He sucked in another breath as he fidgeted on the spot.

"What?" Apollo asked. He _knew_ _that_ look. It was a silent warning that hadn't found a voice . . . yet.

"I . . ." Starbuck muttered, raking a hand back through his hair, and wincing when his fingers paused at the back of his head. Glancing down at his hand, he stared at the congealed blood covering his fingers, from where he had hit his head falling in the mine after Dayton had coshed him. He murmured something unintelligible.

"Come again?" Apollo asked, taking a step closer, and hesitating when Starbuck abruptly backed up, putting that same distance between them. His old friend looked at him warily. Distrustfully. It made him wonder about his mental state. "Starbuck?"

"I couldn't . . . _stop_ them . . ." Starbuck shook his head, staring at the deck between them. His knuckles were white as he gripped the rifle, his voice a choked rasp. "_Tried_ to resist . . . like they taught us . . ."

"Hey, we know that, kid," Dayton told him. "I admit that I don't understand exactly how it works, but in my book that probe is torture, plain and simple. You _survived_. That's what matters."

Starbuck winced, his gaze flickering over to Dayton as he shifted restlessly. "You _don't_ understand . . ." he said hoarsely, looking around futilely, almost desperately. It was as though he was looking for a lifeline, and wasn't finding it.

"What then?" Apollo asked, reaching out again to grip Starbuck's shoulder in support, as he had done hundreds of times in the time the two had known each other. Again, Starbuck instinctively took a step back, but this time Apollo followed. He grasped both of the strike captain's upper arms, forcing the other to look at him. "Tell me, Starbuck."

The shattered visage of his best friend stared back at him, having difficulty making eye contact. "They know . . . _everything_."

Apollo shook his head, uncomprehendingly. "Everything" was a little vague, no matter how hard this was on his friend. "How do you mean?"

"Malus . . . Baltar . . . the _Endeavour_ . . . who and what they_ really _are . . . " Starbuck tapped his temple to drive the point across.

Apollo grimaced as he realized that their entire plan was just an interpreted cortical scan away from falling apart. "_Frack_!"


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

There was a definite weak link in their plan, and Baltar wasn't sure _how_ they were going to explain how a supposed alliance between the Colonials and Cylons could somehow result in a centurion-deficient crew. He drew himself erect, feeling Luana's curious eyes upon him once again, as he worked to come up with a believable story. Charged with "keeping him honest", she had been attentive, yet never overbearing . . . unlike her more celebrated husband.

"I'm thinking of changing my optical sensor to blue, Lieutenant Luana. What do you think?" Malus asked, seemingly to pass the time as the "_Harbinger_" shuttle's engines shut down in the landing bay. In centons the Colonial team would disembark.

"Blue?" Luana replied, a faint smile flitting across her features. "You're sure?"

"Oh, indeed," replied Malus, in a tone reminiscent of a human setting eyes on a feast-laden table. "Very sure."

"Why blue, Admiral?"

"It would set me apart," Malus replied thoughtfully.

"Seeking individuality is a human characteristic," Baltar inserted.

"Very true, Baltar," Malus replied, before adding, "I believe I am partial to blue eyes."

"Me too," Luana grinned at the IL. "Can you do that? Just change the colour?"

"It is not as easy as changing a bulb, as it would require some disassembly on my part, but I believe it would be . . . _pleasing_ to me." Malus "sniffed" dramatically. "And that _is _the point, after all, is it not? However, I would have to find the _right_ blue."

Baltar turned to regard the IL, not quite believing they were having this conversation. At times the IL seemed as ruthless and cunning as Lucifer had been, and at other times, he seemed a few diodes short of a central processor. "The _right_ blue?"

"Oh, yes," Malus replied, warming up to the topic. "Some blues are cold like ice. But the blue that I seek is enticing like the sea, unfathomable like the sky, full of sparkling life and vitality like a beautiful gem." He paused, then turned to Luana. "Like _Starbuck's_ eyes."

Then again, Baltar decided, maybe there were _two_ weak links in their plan.

----------

_Frack._

One word that summed it up so succinctly. Not only had Starbuck been powerless to resist the Cylon Brain Probe, but he had endangered the mission, not to mention revealed everything they had come to know about Earth, and how the Colonials had sent Hummer and Dickins there ahead of time to prepare the technologically backward planet for an inevitable attack by the Cylons.

Oh, and as an added bonus, he now knew that he was also probably responsible for his own mother's death. Not exactly one of his best days . . .

"What now?" Dayton was asking.

"We get out of here," Apollo replied. "Rendezvous with the shuttle. They'll be wearing black fatigues. We can blend in." Unlike Dayton's rather compromised infiltration fatigues and Starbuck's tattered standard issue uniform which were barely discernable, Apollo and Lia's uniforms would be identical to the rest of the team's, by design.

Dayton grinned. "Personally, I don't blend well. I prefer my suits privately tailored. How about you, _Macchiatto Man_?"

Starbuck let out a breath of disbelief. "We have to destroy this ship."

"We have that covered, Starbuck," Apollo reminded him, his brow furrowing in concern as he reached out a hand . . .

Instinctively, Starbuck moved, putting a little distance between them, not wanting to be constantly touched, stroked, reaffirmed, reassured . . . it was getting fracking annoying. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a moment of solitude . . . soaring in a Viper, his only companion, the stars. Then again, his Viper flying days were over, with his long list of past injuries and medical concerns. He let out a breath, trying to remember why Apollo was looking at him so expectantly . . . Oh yeah, Apollo _had_ mentioned something about sabotaging the Mega Pulsar. "Well, maybe you feel differently, but if the _Endeavour_ is really here, I'd just as soon take the initiative to blow this ship up, here and now." It was a waste of time, sitting on their astrums waiting for the Cylons to be obliging, and blow _themselves_ up, should they decide to use the Mega Pulsar against the Angylions. He had to make amends for his lapse . . . his failure . . . had to set it right . . . destroy the extracted evidence . . .

"With us on it?" Dayton asked softly. "That would kind of . . . end badly."

Starbuck paused to glance at his commander as the words sunk in. Any other time he would have scoffed or ignored it as stating the obvious, but he knew he wasn't thinking straight. Why was it so difficult to stay focussed? Couldn't let them know . . . He sniffed, pasting his trademark grin on his face. "Well . . . maybe _Baltar_ . . ." he tossed back idly, running a hand over his hair before adding, "I'm not proposing a suicide mission. Just getting off the ship, and then attacking."

"That's the plan, buddy," Apollo told him slowly, glancing at Dayton and Lia.

_Glancing at them as though he was the class idiot._ "You . . . you already told me," Starbuck murmured, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples. He pressed against the throbbing pulse of his headache, willing it to go away and leave him alone.

Apollo again moved to put a hand on his friend, pausing when Dayton shook his head. He pulled it back. "Starbuck, remember when we rescued Cree from Arcta?"

Starbuck nodded, opening his eyes, meeting Apollo's steady gaze. "Yeah. They'd tossed him in a cold cell, afterwards."

"Good point," Dayton added. "How long did it take for Cree to get all his ducks back in a row?"

Starbuck groaned. "I'll pass on the _quackers_ joke, thanks."

Dayton chuckled aside to Apollo. "I think maybe he's heard that one before."

"Maybe _more_ than once . . ." Starbuck added quietly. "What about it?"

"Cree was disoriented on and off for at least a couple sectons," Apollo reminded him. "Nightmares. Headaches. Flashbacks. You're not immune, buddy."

"There's no shame in this, kid. _None._ Remind me sometime to tell you about what Dick went through for me. Torg and Bex . . ." he paused, drawing in a deep, thoughtful breath before continuing. "Look, what I want you to know is we've got your six. Let _us_ take care of the details. You just focus on staying with us, and I'm not talking physically. You got that?"

Starbuck nodded. Oddly, it was almost a relief . . . until he looked into Lia's eyes, and could hear her unspoken concerns about a missing Empyrean necromancer, almost as if she had given them a voice. "Where _is_ Ama?" he asked her. The last he remembered, Ama had told him he couldn't protect her. That taking on Iblis was her "destiny". Nobody had breathed a word about her since.

"We don't know, Starbuck," Lia told him soberly. "But we _do_ need to find her."

Starbuck nodded slowly in acknowledgement. They'd left an old woman to Diabolis, although admittedly if any old woman was up to the task, it was Ama.

"We will," Dayton told them. "All in due time. One of our six impossible things to get done. Before breakfast. Don't worry; she's a tough old doll."

"Yeah, she is," Starbuck agreed, trying to best decide how to commandeer a Cylon Raider and return to the Angylion Holy Sanctum with lasers blazing. Then from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of . . .

"Halt-Human!"

----------

The impact was unexpected, her breath _whooshing_ out of her lungs like a small explosion, as Ama crumpled against the rocks, wondering vaguely how she had arrived there. One moment on Earth, and the next dragged forcibly back here, Iblis had torn her from his mind, rejecting her as vigorously as he had first tried to consume her. Pain wracked a body that she had almost forgotten could be subject to physical force, so long had she concentrated on embracing and developing her psychic powers. The Angylion Holy Sanctum was dark, and she lay panting against the cold rocks, listening for Iblis, while hearing the faint _drip, drip_ of water somewhere, even as she sensed his presence all around her. Omnipresent. Malignant. Predatory.

It was _meant_ to be intimidating. A lesser individual would be terrified, and indeed fear fluttered within her breast before she tempered it down, squelching it before it flamed to life. While Iblis was hideously strong, his powers were nonetheless limited, his realm defined. The Elders had declared that this was so. Free will would be Ama's faithful companion, and though she knew that he had been influencing the impressionable for millennia, corrupting individuals and infecting whole cultures with his malignant influence, any final decision would be hers alone to make. Ama would take ultimate responsibility. It buoyed her spirits.

Slowly, she rolled over, a razor sharp agony cutting across the right side of her chest. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the extent of the damage. She had several broken ribs and severe bruising and lacerations of the surrounding tissue, and it took some effort to gather her strength and quell the fiery pain with her powers, as she did so easily for others. Ignoring Iblis for the moment, she persisted until she could breathe normally.

"Even with your powers, you're only mortal. Surely you realize that, child?" Dispassionately, Iblis' voice seemed to come from all around her, even flowing through her. "Yes, you're lifespan is longer than that of lesser bloodlines, thanks to me. But in the end, you will die, all the same."

Ama grunted, climbing resolutely to her feet. It was a game of strategy. With Iblis she had to be thinking two or three moves ahead of where they were, at all times, and even then there was no guarantee. She had to be prepared to deflect any attack, and to strike back even more powerfully than he thought she was capable of doing. "I am not impressed by your charlatan tricks, Iblis. Show yourself."

A low laugh rumbled through the cavern, bouncing off her broken bones as surely as it did the rocks. Then a glimmer of light flared to life, and a micron later Iblis was standing before her, the torches around them lit once again.

"I cannot let you leave here," Iblis murmured, raising his hands as his still pristine cloak billowed out around him. "You know too much."

"I wasn't seeking your permission," she returned grimly, taking a step closer to him, and smiling when his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Approaching him, even knowing what he was capable of, unnerved him. He expected her to keep her distance, to scurry away like a timid creature. "I can see why my mother fell for your charms. You _are_ a . . . handsome devil," she observed nonchalantly, smirking slightly as he raised his eyebrows upon her words. "Little wonder impressionable humans have always followed you so readily."

"I give them what they want. Effortlessly," Iblis smiled benignly.

"Or what they _think _they want."

"Is there a difference?" smiled the Evil One.

"If there wasn't, you wouldn't have so much to smile about," she shot back.

"I can give you want _you _want, Ama."

"_I_ want you to stop interfering with mankind."

"And just how do you propose to stop me? Pray tell."

"Asking nicely won't do it, then?" she asked sardonically.

He smiled at that, considering her a moment. "What if I vowed to leave the tedious, insipid creatures alone . . . in exchange for your . . ."

"For my _what_?" she pressed, after a few microns of his diseased smile. No, he had not intended for her to discover that their attempt to prepare Earth for the coming of the Cylons had failed, when both Dickins and Hummer had been incarcerated. Now he had to find a way to prevent her from interfering . . . as was her want.

"Your companionship." He never lost the smile, and it made her feel . . ._soiled._

"My _what_?" she scoffed, placing her hands on her ample hips and laughing aloud.

"Your companionship, daughter." He smiled, and it wasn't the least bit attractive. "There is much I can show you. More than you could ever imagine, in twenty human lifetimes. The universe is vast, unlimited."

It was strangely compelling . . . at least to a woman who liked a challenge, and had a life-long thirst for knowledge. Yet, she realized that it also appealed to her insufferable ego. What marvels would she behold? What places could she go to that far surpassed her current limitations? Would humanity flourish if Iblis left them alone? It was a troublesome thought, considering she had been leading the Empyreans by the proverbial nose for as long as she could remember. But the Guardians would be watching . . . the very same Guardians who had likely driven Iblis to become the beast he had through their once rigid idealism.

"Think of it as a sacrifice, if it suits you, Ama," Iblis coaxed her, holding out an inviting hand. "A selfless sacrifice to once and for all ensure that I leave the human race to their unimaginative, insect meanderings. Two great minds, two formidable powers, together." He waved a hand towards her, and she felt the pain in her ribs cease, and a strange tingling spread through the damaged area. "You see? I can be benevolent, Child. Benevolent, and so much more." Iblis smiled once again, and she felt the warmth of it suffuse her body, as though she'd had a little too much ambrosa. His eyes promised that same intoxication of mind and spirit if she would just reach out and take the proffered hand. "Just think what a pair we could make . . . the universe could be ours."

She smiled her gapped-tooth grin, and curtsied deferentially, seeing his eyes glow with an eerie quality that she couldn't quite define. _Satisfaction?_ _Triumph? _"I'd sooner be torn limb from limb and boiled in tylium, Dear Heart."

For a moment, the Father of Lies stood frozen to the spot, his face a mask of shock. It was as if he could scarcely believe what he had just heard. Then, he began to scowl, his face darkening with fury. His eyes glared at her, filled with rage and contempt.

"That, stripling," he hissed, "can be arranged!"

---------

Who knew that one of Ryan's practical jokes in the making could turn into such a stroke of luck? Within the shuttle aboard the _Harbinger_, Baker nodded at Porter who was wearing one of the other two centurion "costumes" that Ryan and Baker had been working on for the last couple months. Salvaged from the derelict _Abaddon_-class _Harrower_ that had been almost destroyed by a solar storm, there had been an abundance of fried and burnt-out centurion husks to work with, but only three had been chosen for the prank. Ryan, now recovering from his injuries in the _Endeavour_'s Life Station, had been devastated that he couldn't be involved.

"Hey, I think it's a great idea, but . . . what about this?" Jolly pointed out the Canadian pale that Ryan had stamped on each centurion's breast plate, yielding to his irrepressible and sometimes unique sense of humour. Beneath the Canadian standard, the English words "Made in Canada" were unavoidably noticeable, however, admittedly indecipherable to those that didn't understand the Earth language.

"If they ask, we'll tell them it's a squadron insignia. An ancient dialect," Baker shrugged. "_Beaver Fever_, or something like that. We'll make it up as we go along."

"You mean like we've been doing so far?" Jolly replied.

"Worse comes to worst, we'll tell 'em they're part of our hover-hockey team. The _Centurion Maple Leafs,__" _Porter laughed.

"Let's stick with that first idea," Jolly replied amiably, not even trying to figure it out. It was another "Earth moment" that was better left unexplained, and making things up as they went along was one the Earthmen's talents. "Okay, put your helmets on and we'll confirm the vocal modulators are working. We didn't have a lot of time to pull this off."

"We need Cylon names for these guys," Dietra mentioned.

"I'm Bakon," Baker replied, winking at Porter. "You should be Eggz."

"Bakon and Eggz, huh?" Porter chuckled. "I like it. All we need now is 'Hashbrowns'." He glanced pointedly at Rooke, the third _Cylon_.

"Hashbrowns?" Rooke twisted his mouth around the strange word, as the two Earthmen chuckled, having way too much fun considering they were about to go undercover on a Cylon Base Ship. "I don't think so."

"Let's stick with the plan. Bakon, Portex, and Rooka," Jolly inserted. "I don't need Commander Dayton losing it when you start with your Earth jokes."

"I _really_ don't get why they call you 'Jolly'," Baker shrugged.

Together, the three men pulled on their Cylon helmets. Sectons before, Baker had rigged two of the "Cylons" to give them a vocal capacity utilizing the same technology used in the Hybrid Raiders, but hadn't finished the third by the time this whole crazy idea came about. Unfortunately, he had been detoured by Ryan plying him with Asteroid Whiskey and trying to teach him and Porter the "cancan", while finding appropriate lingerie to dress up the centurions for their dancing debut in front of their commander. After all, there was a possibility that the men might need an entertaining distraction during their shakedown cruise, and making fun of Cylons seemed to be a worthwhile pastime.

"Baker, you might want to take off that garter belt before you go out there," Sheba said, glancing out a porthole, and seeing the assembled delegation including Baltar, Luana and Malus. She turned back with a smile, as Dietra leaned down to remove the offending item.

"_Cylons-In-The-City_. It's-so-Kim-Cattrall." The vocal modulator was working perfectly, giving Baker's words that distinctive centurion affect. "It's-just-so . . . so-_in-_this-season-on-IFB. We-have-to-make-everything-sexier-than-it-really-is."

Someone groaned, and it sounded strange, through the voice modulators.

"What-I-wouldn't-have-given-to-have-seen-the-look-on-Dayton's-face-had-we-actually-pulled-it-off. Cylons-dance-the-cancan. It-would-have-been-beautiful," Porter added.

"Try to do away with contractions and perceptions, and make it more stilted," Dietra coached them. "Cylons below the IL class don't use them. Even the ILs do so rarely."

"Good advice, Dee," Jolly added, looking to the third centurion. "Let's hear it, Rooke."

"My processors are in overload . . . _frack_. It's not working," Lieutenant Rooke groused, pulling the helmet off again. He reached inside, fiddling with the circuit, and then shook his head in disgust. "Bloody thing, made on Pineas, I'll bet . . ."

"Sorry, Rooke, there's no time" Jolly shook his head, watching the lieutenant nod and hastily replace the helmet. "We'll leave you with the shuttle, but let Dietra do the talking. At least we _have_ a 'Cylon' presence, besides Malus."

"How well can you see?" Sheba asked.

"Well-enough-to-cancan," Baker replied.

"The-strobe-light-is-distracting, but-it's-doable," Porter added.

"Just don't trip over anything," Jolly told them ruefully. He turned around, calling back to the pilots, "Open the hatch."

A moment later, they were filing out into the _Harbinger_'s landing bay, a few of them remaining by their transport, as the others moved towards toward their welcoming committee. Like Luana, they were dressed in black, however, the entire "human" contingent of this team wore black leather infiltration gear, aligning them with the distinctive black tunics and pants of the Angylion Palace Guard. Somehow, none of them thought that Mendax would quibble over the slight difference in uniform.

"Admiral. Commanders," Jolly saluted them smartly, a human and centurion flanking him on either side. "Reporting as ordered."

"You brought Microsoft OS, Lieutenant?" Malus asked.

"We did, sir."

"Vista-edition," Porter added through the vocal modulator inserted in his faceplate. "Service-Pack-Two."

"Once we update the weapons systems, the _Harbinger_ will be refitted sufficiently to repel the Borg," Jolly added, nodding at Mendax.

"I will be curious to see how this works," Mendax replied.

"It-is-the-latest-of-advances-in-a-long-line-of-Shatner-technology," Porter told him. "The-real-McCoy."

"Oh?" asked Mendax, uncertainly.

"Right-out-of-the-Gates, sir," Baker added.

"You are fully rated in this new technology?" asked Mendax.

"Centurions Portex and Bakon are two of our experts in . . . Shatner Technology, Commander," Jolly explained.

"_Shatter_?" asked Mendax.

"Shatner, Commander. A-research-centre-in-the-Roddenberry-System," replied Bakon.

"I have never heard of it," replied Mendax.

"It is a very long way from here, yes, and we do our best to keep its whereabouts classified," said Sheba soberly.

"I see. So this . . . system has been combat tested?" asked Mendax.

"It-has-been-completely-tested. On-the-Shatinator-Scale-it-is-rated-as-full-of-Shat," Portex added.

"The-highest-ranking-achievable," Bakon elucidated.

"Portex, Bakon and Corporal Coxcoxtli will be in charge of the refit," Jolly inserted. "The rest of our techs will be under their supervision." He nodded towards the others who were carrying various pieces of technological equipment.

"As you can tell, we've done this many times," Baltar inserted, nodding at the _Endeavour_'s crewmen. "The interfacing of systems should be a fairly quick and simple process, Commander Mendax."

"Admiral Malus, there is an encoded communiqué on board the shuttle from the Imperious Leader, sir," Jolly informed him.

"Ah, I have been expecting that. Very good, Lieutenant." Malus nodded. "Commanders, I will join you in the Command Centre. Proceed with all haste, as we discussed."

"Of course," Mendax replied.

---------

Dayton had to admit, when he'd first heard the sound of the centurion warning them to "halt", his training kicked in, and his initial instinct was to protect his men. The adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, snapping him straight back to Torg and that Hellpit he'd survived, at least for an instant. He pivoted sharply, spying three centurions, all armed and heading their way. He lifted his weapon, but by then Starbuck had already raised his Cylon pulse rifle and was charging the centurions, firing his weapon and yelling like a berserker of Norse legend.

"_Starbuck_ . . ." Apollo growled, unable to find a clear shot with his friend in the way, as laser fire started flying down both ends of the corridor. He dove for cover, dragging Lia to the deck.

It was as though the Goddess Fortuna was riding shotgun, as the Cylon shots miraculously missed Starbuck, and the first Cylon fell under his fury, belching sparks, and toppling into the one next to it. Starbuck snarled, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor and taking aim on the next. He fired, cursing as his pulse rifle remained conspicuously quiet.

"Triquetra's Teeth!" Lia spat, climbing to her feet. "What's he doing?"

"Going Rambo on us!" Dayton replied, slamming himself against a wall, and laying down some covering fire to Starbuck's right, as the warrior charged again. Dick had done this a time or two under extreme duress, and the only thing his old friend had been aware of at that point was the enemy. Everything else had ceased to exist. It was the old "flight or fight" response, built into the DNA from day one. Obviously, like Dick, Starbuck was a fighter.

"Starbuck! Get down!" Apollo shouted, climbing to one knee, and throwing himself against the opposite bulkhead. He fired with deadly accuracy. The second centurion toppled as one leg was shot to pieces, then did the Herky-Jerky in its death throes. Starbuck quickly looked back, looking almost surprised to see them standing there.

"_Down_!" Dayton yelled again, terror wrapping her cold claws around his throat as the third Cylon sighted Starbuck. The kid dropped like a rock, his training kicking in with his selective hearing, as a laser volley split the air above him.

"Behind us!" Lia hollered, turning with her laser in hand, and starting to fire.

"Surrender-humanoids!"

Dayton fired again before the third Cylon adjusted his aim, the _Endeavour_ Commander's shot hitting the centurion's pulse rifle. It exploded in a blinding burst of light and smoke, blowing the Cylon's hand off. Shielding his eyes from the blast, he felt the shock wave rock them. Then he fired again, hitting the cyborg directly in the face, before turning to check their newest threat.

"There's too many of them!" Lia hollered as a full patrol advanced on them.

"Retreat!" Dayton agreed, turning to fall back as Apollo lay down covering fire . . . only to groan in disbelief as he saw Starbuck disappearing around a corner, a Cylon sword in his hand. _Damn fool kid!_ "Starbuck!"

Dayton tore off in pursuit, turning the corner to find the warrior dodging the downward strike from a centurion's blade. Sparks flew from the metal as they met, and Starbuck twisted out of the way. Sensibly, for the Cylon had far too much power behind him to try and block a blow like that. It would be pointless and stupid. However, the kid had learned from the best, or at least the only guy who'd seen the original _Highlander_ more than five times, and thought that Adrian Paul was a pussy compared to Christopher Lambert. Yeah, Starbuck was poetry in motion; Dayton couldn't help but admire his "pupil" as Starbuck turned, causing the top-heavy Cylon to overbalance. Then the young man feinted, and turned in a full circle as he arced back around, bringing his sword down on the centurion's exposed neck. He took the Cylon's head off with one blow. Sparks spewed from the severed head and torso, and the Cylon fell, twitching and shaking, to the deck, the head rolling to bump up against a bulkhead.

"Thought I told you to never turn your back on the enemy," Dayton told him tonelessly. The corridor ahead was clear. However, he wasn't sure where Starbuck's head was at as the young man stood there panting, his face a mask of rage as he gazed on the decapitated cyborg. But, this was_ not _the time to start counselling. "It's flashy, but foolish."

For a moment, Starbuck stood there quietly, closing his eyes slightly, before looking back at his CO. "I _like_ flashy," he returned breathlessly, as Apollo and Lia rounded the corridor.

"Go!" Apollo yelled, turning and firing once again.

"I'll try to remember that for your memorial service," the Earthman told Starbuck pointedly, grabbing him by the arm and thrusting the younger man ahead of him as they raced down the corridor.

----------

Llewelyn raced towards his brother, his heart in his throat as he wondered if he would make it on time. He'd been told that it was a mortal wound. A lethal blow. That Glynn had fallen bravely in battle against the steel demons, and that nothing short of a miracle could save him. Well, sometimes a man had to make his own miracles, since they were generally in short supply, especially in desperate times.

Just ahead, he could see that Eirys had arrived. She was leaning over the Angylion prince, muttering incantations, spells and likely a prayer or two. Llewelyn skidded to a stop and dropped onto his knee beside her, automatically touching his fingers to his forehead, and murmuring scraps of Holy Writ, more out of habit, than any deep, serious faith in it. Then he glanced down at his brother's wan face, cringing as he saw the seepage of blood spreading over Glynn's tunic.

_Llyr forfend! He can't__ . . . __no! _He swallowed, steadying himself.

"Ah, lying down, I see!" Llewelyn managed to get the words past his tight throat. "How very typical. Just because you're first in line doesn't mean I have to do _all _the work," he gently berated his brother, grasping his cool hand tightly.

A faint smile touched his brother's full lips as his dark lashes fluttered open. "Work? You spent far more time . . . avoiding work, than doing it, little brother." He grunted, unable to contain the pain. "Mother spoiled you. Let you get away with bloody murder."

The younger prince squeezed his brother's shoulder, leaning close, _willing_ him to live. "It's call delegating, Glynn. Any man can work, it takes a true leader to delegate," he returned lightly, glancing at Eirys in concern. There was no need to ask the words. She knew. She shook her head.

"Della-_what_? Is that a . . . a woman's name?" smiled the other, his breathing too shallow and quick.

"Jealous, brother?" Llewelyn shook his head, feeling tears prick the backs of his eyes. There had to be _some_ way. "It doesn't become you, Glynnie."

"And no doubt she had flaxen hair . . . blue eyes . . ." Glynn teased, ignoring the childhood nickname, before coughing weakly. He cringed, tensing from head to toe as he splinted his wound against the sudden pain.

"Maybe she does . . ." Llewelyn returned quietly, as an image came to him. And an idea. "Eirys! We'll use the Oculus." His tone brooked no argument. "If you can journey across dimensions, than by Llyr, you can take me to the stars so I can find Cassiopeia. We heard of the magic she worked with Ryan. She's my brother's only hope."

"Llewelyn . . ." Glynn whispered, beckoning the young prince closer to him still. "The Mystics may have decided that it is _my_ time . . ."

"Then they'll have to take me first, brother," Llewelyn replied stubbornly. "I'm not ready to part with you quite yet."

---------

"Commander-Mendax, Humanoids-in-gamma-sector-confirmed," a centurion reported as the humans and Cylons filed into the Command Centre.

"Ah, Prince Llewelyn and his manservant. Very good. Have them brought here at once, Centurion," Mendax replied, as Malus entered just behind them.

"They-are-unconstrained."

"Then constrain them!" Mendax ordered irritably. "They are only two humanoids, one of which is nothing more than a domestic servant! How difficult can it be to subdue them?"

"Between-the-guards-in-the-Brig-and-those-in-gamma-section, they-have-destroyed-at-least-eight-centurions."

"_Eight_?"

"Two-additional-humanoids-have-been-reported-with-them. Identities-unknown."

"Two additional . . ." Mendax glanced at Malus. Had they managed to board the ship before it took off, or was Malus up to something? _This was really not going well. _ "Human or Angylion, Centurion?"

"Humanoids-all-look-the-same, Commander."

Admittedly, Mendax also had trouble telling them apart. Reportedly, the Angylions claimed to have some kind of energy field around them that they called an "aura". However, it was undetectable to Cylons. "True." He turned to the other IL. "Don't you find this unusual, Admiral?"

"That your 'good neighbours' are destroying your centurions? Yes, I do, Commander," Malus replied. "Especially since Prince Llewelyn was taken ill."

"Is there something you wish to tell us, Mendax?" Baltar asked, crossing his arms over his chest, and frowning. He poured on the "Baltar Glare" that he'd used on Lucifer many a time.

"Perhaps we could be of some assistance?" Sheba offered, giving the IL a way out. "After all, if there are unresolved . . . _disputes_ between these humanoids and yourselves, then possibly _we_ might be better received?"

"My centurions are quite capable of . . ." Mendax attempted.

"Your centurions will require the Shatner Technology upgrades to equip them for dealing with the Borg, Commander Mendax. As I have said before, time is of the essence, Commander." Malus turned towards Luana. "Lieutenant. You and Sheba find these Angylion people, and use all reasonable means to subdue them. As a gesture of good will to our old friends, welcomed into our fold, we must accept that Commander Mendax knows how best to deal with these Angylions."

"Yes . . . of course," Mendax murmured in surprise. Maybe he just might manage to get out of this mess with a full set of cover plates . . . "Flight Leader Subventus will accompany your officers."

"As will I," Malus added, seemingly as an afterthought. "Portex, Bakon, Coxcoxtli. Are we ready to upload Microsoft OS?"

"By-your-command," Bakon replied.

"Proceed."

----------

He clicked into alertness, before he even opened his eyes. Something was out of place. Ryan could hear the familiar sounds of a Colonial Sick. . . er, Life Station, having spent enough time there between visiting Dickins, Starbuck, Porter, and Dorado during their various stays, but there was a sense of subterfuge in the air.

Someone was _skulking_.

"You're like a bull in a china shop, son," Ryan quipped, turning his head to catch sight of the brown head ducking below the bio-stretcher. "Next time leave the Energizer Bunny at home, or at least give him a lube job before you break into the Life Station, Boxster." He winced slightly as his stomach reminded him it had recently been blasted open. The amazing thing was he was still alive.

"Boxey," a quiet but resentful voice murmured, before a head and shoulders became visible.

Ryan smiled. "Ah, the Porsche _Boxster_. A German roadster that combined good looks and fantastic power from its mid-mounted flat-six, with direct injection. The 'S' had the new dual-clutch transmission known as PDK, which dispensed with the traditional clutch pedal and allowed you to shift through seven gears as smooth as butter via sequential paddle shifters." He grinned, hearing and recognizing the love in his voice. Ryan had promised himself a black 2011 once he touched down again, even had his name on the list at the dealership in Miami, but had never made it back for the test drive. "A man has to chase his dreams, Boxster."

The child smiled, glancing down at his daggit, his hand resting on its head.

"Now how the hell did you get aboard the _Endeavour_?" Ryan couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. The ingenuity it took to get from the Fleet all the way to a separate dimension to catch up to his father, was damn impressive.

Boxey shrugged, glancing over his shoulder, before returning his attention to the Earthman. "It wasn't right for him to leave me behind."

_Him._ Not father or dad. Oh, the kid was still angry. "Well, rules _are_ rules . . ."

"And can be broken," Boxey finished indignantly.

Ryan nodded. "True. But in the military, the rules aren't generally established to suit the individual, just the majority . . ." He paused, seeing a twinkling light flare to life in the middle of the Life Station.

Boxey turned, backing up against the bio-stretcher when he saw the light expanding, until it formed a swirling ball. "What is it?"

"I'm hoping it's Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, since I'm fresh out of buckets of water," Ryan replied calmly, wrapping his meagre Life Station gown more tightly around him, before hoisting his legs over the side of the bio-stretcher. The child froze beside him as the daggit began growling in warning. Ryan cringed as his guts twisted in pain.

"Ryan . . ._Boxey!_" Cassie's voice suddenly cried out haltingly as she walked out of her office, the Empyrean healer, Rhiamon, beside her. They gawked at the light. "Eirys?" Cassie whispered.

"I vote we fire up a hoverstretcher and ride it out of here," Ryan grunted, as Cassie rushed to his side, ever the competent clinician. "Get Boxster out of here, Cassie. _Now!_"

Then a flash of light just about knocked his eyeballs all the way back to Earth. When the shooting stars receded, Eirys and Llewelyn were standing there before them.

"Star . . . Starbuck?" Boxey asked uncertainly as he gazed upon a likeness of his father's best friend, but with a gossamer radiance. However, the ethereal glow couldn't hide bloody and battle-torn clothes, an enormous sword in its scabbard, and wildly strewn hair. He looked about, as if astounded by what he saw. The woman beside him, much tidier in appearance, looked like an enchanting angel. A very _tired _enchanting angel.

"Llewelyn?" Cassie murmured, seeing his anguish written so clearly upon his handsome features that she could feel it herself, her heart tearing jaggedly in two. "What happened? What's wrong?"

The prince swallowed, then let out a ragged breath as he strode forward, dropping to a knee in front of her, scabbard and armour clunking on the deck, as he took her hand in both of his. He looked up at her, his glistening blue eyes pleading with her. She felt familiar heartstrings tug as she momentarily lost herself in those eyes, so achingly familiar. It was a maelstrom of emotions that she could do without just now. "Sweet, Lady Cassiopeia, I seek your help. Glynn has been wounded. Badly. I know of your skills, your magic. _Please_ . . .I _beg_ of you . . ." A guarded hope shone from his eyes as he awaited her answer.

_Even his voice__ . . ._

Cassie nodded, dropping to her own knees, feeling an instinct to comfort this young man who was so terrified of losing his brother. A brother that was Apollo's doublewalker, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was somehow significant. Her eyes rested briefly on Boxey, before replying. "Of course, I'll help, Llewelyn."

"Thank you, Lady," he whispered, kissing the back of her hand, before he rose, pulling her to her feet. She crossed to grab her medical bag.

"We could fly you there . . ." Ryan attempted.

"The Oculus will be quicker," Eirys replied.

"Why did I know you'd say that," Ryan groused, reaching over and grabbing a hoverspray. He quickly dosed himself. "I'm in."

"You need to rest," Cassie told him. "You are hardly fit to be going to the OC, let alone on a mission!"

"I'm been debrided, evacuated, irrigated like a bloody cornfield, repaired, _and_ regenerated. That kind of rest I can do without," he returned, securing his grip on his revealing health care gown.

"Are you going to wear that?" Eirys asked with a faint smile.

"Well, _Oscar de la Life Station_ had a small line this year. Maybe we can find some Diane von Furstenburg down on the planet. Let's go."

"Boxey, you stay here with Rhiamon," Cassie told him. "Don't worry, we'll make sure you see your dad."

He nodded quietly, backing away from the adults.

"Gather 'round," Eirys told them, pulling out her Oculus and holding it above her head as they stood with her. Quietly at first, and then more loudly she began uttering incomprehensible incantations. The gilded metal of the orb began to glow eerily, becoming more like a translucent crystal, as though effected by some inexplicable energy. Then a strange light began to expand outward, enveloping them all.

"Come on, Daggit!" Boxey suddenly shouted, taking a running jump, and leaping into the middle of the mystical ball of energy.

"Boxey!" Rhiamon yelled.

Then with a brilliant flash, they were gone.

---------

Cylons. Cylons everywhere. Every corner turned, every hatch they passed through, everywhere Starbuck looked. _More_ frackin' Cylons!

They had to get to a landing bay. _Had_ to commandeer a Raider or shuttle. If they didn't get off this ship they'd be dead. But centurions were coming out of the mong-raking bulkheads; Hades Hole, he could even see them with his eyes closed! Skittering over the entire ship like some kind of infestation, intent on consuming them, destroying them. When one fell, it seemed as if six more replaced it. He was almost ready to carve his own hatch through the hull with the Cylon sword he brandished, but that might be misconstrued as _crazy_. He pulled at the collar of his tunic. Needed air . . .

Surrounded. Penned in. Apollo ahead of him, Boomer continually dragging him alongside by one arm . . .no, not Boomer . . . Dayton. _Frack! _A guy didn't need a doctorate to know he wasn't doing too good mentally, when he could confuse an old white guy with a young black man. Boomer would laugh himself into the next star system if he ever caught wind of it. Starbuck tugged at his collar again, barely able to catch his breath, as his heart battered against his chest, and the walls closed in on him. Even his skin felt too tight . . . ready to burst like a Gemonese sausage . . . curling and peeling back at the charred edges . . . the smell of burning flesh . . .

"Surrender-humans!"

_The drone. _

Rage surged through his body, revitalising, energizing, and he raised his sword, tearing his arm free from Dayton's grip and racing forward. A half a dozen pulse rifles took aim, ready to mow him down. He faltered, aware that Dayton and Apollo were both shouting at him, trying to get him to stand down. A glance over his shoulder, and he realized they were completely surrounded.

_Surrender or die, Bucko_. Wasn't one much the same as the other?

The insistent droning grated on his last nerve, back and forth, over and over, the oscillating red eyes punctuating the maddening noise that was etched painfully into his brain. Had been since childhood. What he wouldn't do for a Colonial multi-pulse blaster right now, for a chance to blast out one red light after the next until they were all lying in a smouldering junk heap, like some weird, obscene sacrificial offering to all those who had died by the will of Cylon. Blessed silence, an end to the madness . . . an impossible wish.

"Easy now. . . this would be a _really_ bad time to lose your cool, kid," Dayton hissed in his ear, gripping his shoulder tightly.

He tore free, still wielding the sword, as he whirled on the Earthman. "Stop _grabbing_ me, or I swear I'll rip off your arm and shove it up your ast. . .!"

"Centurions! Hold your fire! This is Lieutenant Luana of the Base Ship _Harrower_! In the name of the Admiral Malus, I'm ordering you to put down your arms! _Now_!" a voice roared from behind the Cylons, as a small figure forced its way through.

"Hold-your-fire," a centurion repeated. The pulse rifles didn't waver, but they didn't fire either.

Frozen to the spot, Starbuck could feel his chest heaving as the voice ricocheted around his brain. He gazed into Dayton's eyes, searching for elusive answers, as the Earthman slowly, but steadily raised his hands and weapon in the air.

"Put it down, kid," Dayton murmured out of the side of his mouth.

Starbuck could only shake his head in bewilderment as he tried desperately to correlate the _voice_ with the _orders_. _Admiral Malus_ . . . Base Ship _Harrower_ . . . The Cylons were_ obeying _her. Didn't make any sense. What the frack . . .??? Not ceding his grip on the sword, he turned reluctantly, afraid of what he'd see, but prepared for anything. This had to be some kind of joke . . . or nightmare.

Yeah, he'd definitely gone off the scanner this time. Deep space.

Lu swept past the centurions, wearing a black tunic and pants, her hair tied back as usual. Her Colonial laser was on her hip, and her hand rested on it lightly as she paused, and looked him over. She drew in a sharp breath, before straightening her shoulders, and stopping a pace away. Her liquid brown eyes were dark with concern, her body taut with tension as Starbuck held his defensive stance, his sword looming over her.

"_Innamorato_ . . ." she whispered for his ears only, her love for him shining like a beacon of hope. A lifeline.

It penetrated his numbness, and his sword clattered to the deck, leaving him naked and undefended. Salvation was only a step away, but it seemed like a bottomless chasm separated them. All he had to do was reach out, and pull her into his arms. But he . . . _couldn't_ . . . He let out a shuddering breath, and Lu's face contorted, before she stepped forward, holding out her hands to him. "_Starbuck_ . . ." she coaxed him gently.

"Lower your weapons! That is an order! Centurions and humanoids alike!" an unclad IL suddenly ordered, drawing Starbuck's attention. "We are allies! It is time to unite against our common foe and destroy them! They are drawing close, even as we waste time here! It is time to act! Do you understand?"

"Lower-your-weapons!" Flight Leader Subventus repeated.

Feeling raw and exposed, Starbuck tried to collect himself, as the IL turned to regard him. In a glance, it occurred to him that he . . . he _knew_ this Cylon. But how? Images once again came flooding back, and he let out a choking sound, taking another step away from both Luana and the IL, as he tried to ward off another onslaught of unwelcome memories. He raised his hands defensively. All around them, the centurions had obediently lowered their weapons.

"We have been looking for you for some time," the IL told him. "It heartens me to see you are well."

"_Am_ I?" Starbuck rasped, winded. His hand clutched at his chest as it tightened intolerably.

"My sensors detect an unusual fluctuation in your life signs, however. If you were a cybernetic Being, I would suggest that you are about to short circuit," the IL took a step closer. "Three."

"Huh?" Starbuck muttered, backing himself into a bulkhead.

"Two," the IL added.

"_Now!_" Dayton roared suddenly, as the Colonial Warriors suddenly drew their weapons, and opened fire on the centurions. Subventus went first, his chest erupting in sparks, then an arm flying off, before he fell, belching smoke. Those next to him followed suit rapidly, heads exploding, and limbs ripped to bits by the sudden volley of weapon's fire.

Starbuck didn't have time to react as the IL threw himself against the warrior, crushing him against the bulkhead, and shielding his body from the battle. The sound of laser fire filled his senses, even as he fought impotently against the crushing strength of the IL, while yelling obscenities. It was just enough to put him over the edge that he had been precariously balanced on for far too long. His ears rang and his vision blurred, while cold arms engulfed him, and a surprisingly gentle voice assured him, "I have you, my dearest friend. I will not let you come to harm. I give you my word."

"_Mal_ . . ." He stopped struggling, stopped raging, feeling himself go limp with exhaustion as the last laser discharged, and the last centurion fell. A moment later, Malus caught him, lifting him easily in his arms. His vision narrowed, his hearing diminished. It occurred to Starbuck that IL's didn't _drone_ . . . It was kinda nice.

"Starbuck!" Luana cried, putting away her weapon, finally free to throw her arms around him amidst the carnage of the smoking Cylons. Sheba had remained on the far side to flank the centurions, catching them in a carefully constructed crossfire. When they had obeyed their flight leader's order, lowering their weapons, the Colonials had quickly decimated them.

Luana brushed back his hair from his forehead, and he gripped her hand lightly. Her touch wasn't the least bit threatening, or unwelcome, he realized as darkness descended.

"I'll take him," Dayton told the IL, as Sheba launched herself into Apollo's waiting arms.

"You have already had your chance, Commander," Malus replied, holding the warrior a little closer to him. A scorch mark ran across his flank, suffered while protecting his self-delegated charge. "I have this watch."

Dayton winced slightly, then nodded. "Fair enough. What now?"

"Our brilliant escape."

"Brilliant?" asked Sheba.

"Of course," said the IL.

---------

The skies erupted with a sudden flash of light, which illuminated the immuring grey clouds that had settled over Morlais. In a sudden heavenly explosion, rain poured down on them, soaking all within moments. All Angylion eyes were drawn to Mt. Cadoc, as lightning sundered the sky over the mountain peak with a violence that could only be otherworldly. Tendrils of the heavenly wrath arced and snaked across the bulk of the sacred peak. A faint tremor shook the ground, growing in intensity until it seemed Morlais would be ripped apart, and left in ruins. Then an ungodly shriek ripped through the air, chilling each and every Being present to the bone.

Daunting, was the utter silence that fell.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"We need to get Starbuck out of here, _Lightning Lid_, and over to the _Endeavour_," Dayton ordered, as he looked over the unconscious officer, while in the corridor of the Cylon Base Ship. It felt like days ago that they had started this mission, trying to track down and retrieve their missing strike captain. Starbuck had been to Hell and back during that time, especially after almost being executed, and then going through a Cylon Brain Probe. _And you couldn't protect him._ _Any more than you could Lynn or Ben . . . _The warrior was spent, both mentally and physically. Dayton sniffed. Not getting any younger, he wasn't far off that himself. Besides, it was a little weird the way that Malus was holding the insensate strike captain against him, cradling him like a child . . . or lover. Being overprotective and possessive. Being Malus.

"His condition is hardly emergent, Commander," the IL told him. "He merely needs our support and love."

"Love," Dayton repeated monotone.

"Yes, Commander. I understand it is difficult for the male of your species to discuss love amongst brethren, but I know that you love Starbuck. As does Colonel Apollo. As do I."

"Oh, _man_ . . ." Dayton rolled his eyes.

"Malus, this isn't the time to explore your _feelings_ for Starbuck," Apollo told him, "or anybody else's, for that matter. We just destroyed an entire Cylon patrol." His hand swept over the destroyed centurions. "Check in the with the Cylon Control Centre and tell them that Prince Llewelyn is wounded, and we're taking him to the _Harrower_ for treatment."

"Perfect," Dayton praised him. "Then I'll catch that flip back to the _Endeavour_ for the big show," Dayton added, knowing that his place was on the Bridge when all this went down.

"Yes, sirs," the IL replied, immediately crossing to a comm station. He shifted Starbuck gently in his arms, while activating the system. "This is Admiral Malus. There was an unfortunate skirmish in place when we arrived, Commander Mendax. Most of your centurions were destroyed, and Prince Llewelyn, the only surviving humanoid, was seriously wounded. I am going to take the prince to the launch bay for immediate transfer to the _Harrower_'s Life Station in _my _Raider. I require you to clear one more of my fighters to land in the bay, as I have no intention of thumbing for a ride when it comes time to go." The squadron had maintained position near the _Harbinger_ under the pretence that they were protecting Mendax's Base Ship while it was still vulnerable.

"_Thumbing_ for a ride . . .?" Mendax repeated.

They could hear Baltar in the background. "An old Renaissance saying, Commander."

"I see. Then the manservant, Dayton?" Mendax asked. "He was killed?"

"Yes," Malus replied with a glance at Dayton. "It seems you will need to mend your own cloak, Mendax."

"I can recommend a seamstress on Piscon," Baltar inserted from the Command Centre. "We are ready here, Admiral. I imagine you want to be present. Captain Dorado on the _Harrower_ just reported his Shatner scanners picked up concentrated energy signatures resembling interdimensional transport that are likely indicative of Borg vessels approaching. ETA thirty centons. They also reported that Doctor Ryan, his med tech, and a child were abducted by Angylions from the Life Station. It seems they're on Morlais. We're running out of time, Admiral."

"Oh _my_," Malus replied. "I will be there shortly, Baltar. Admiral Malus out."

"_Cassiopeia_ . . ." Dayton groaned. As much as he tried to keep her safe, she kept getting thrust back into the thick of it. "Damn!"

"A _child_?" Apollo asked, tense and expectant.

Sheba let out a long breath. "Boxey stowed away on the _Pegasus_ before we shipped out from the Fleet. I think he also stowed away on the _Endeavour_ when we intercepted her," Sheba explained. "We still haven't found him."

"You _lost_ my son?" Apollo clamped his mouth shut, immediately shaking his head in regret. "I didn't mean it quite the way it sounded."

"I'm sure you didn't," Sheba replied evenly.

"He's probably in the Rejuvenation Centre playing Starhounds," Lia added optimistically.

Apollo winced, not convinced. "I wish. Okay, _I_ have to get down to Morlais. I need to find Boxey. If the Angylions went after Cassiopeia, _somebody_ was hurt badly. This has Eirys' signature all over it. They must be at the battlefield."

"I'm coming with you," Sheba told him. "We're probably going to need a shuttle to get everybody back from the surface."

"If I had my druthers, I'd go too. I'd like a word with that sorceress about popping in willy-nilly to nab members of my crew whenever it suits her," Dayton told them, letting out a breath of frustration at not being the one to collect Cassiopeia. "But, unfortunately I need to get back to my ship. I belong on the Bridge, especially now."

"Yes, sir," Apollo winced.

"Apollo, if that was my kid down there, I'd be going too," Dayton intervened before the young colonel began to second guess his decision. "We'll be fine. Just do me a favour and see to Cassiopeia for me once you find Boxey."

"I will, Commander."

"Do we have time to drop off Starbuck and the rest of the crew on the _Endeavour_ and then continue on?" Sheba asked, glancing at her chrono.

"No, we'd end up launching in the thick of it," Apollo replied with a frown.

"Like Commander Dayton, Coxcoxtli needs to be back on the _Endeavour_," Malus added. "We'll need his technical support in the Command Centre, and he knows the sequences that Baker and Porter will run."

"Well, that settles it. The shuttle will head for Morlais. Coxcoxtli, Starbuck and I will go with Luana and . . ." Dayton paused, until Lia held up her hand. "Lia. It'll be a bit tight, but if you could squeeze five in there for the trip over, we can do the same for the trip back. To the Cylons it'll just look like we're transporting Prince Llewelyn, and with the average centurion denser than a brick shit house, no one will be any the wiser." He paused for questions, glancing at Starbuck who looked the part of the injured prince. "_Sparky_, have you got things wrapped up here?"

"Of course, Commander," Malus replied, heading down the corridor towards the launch bay. "I will remain with Baltar, Bakon and Eggz in the Command Centre to continue the charade. The rest of the team should be returning to the landing bay any moment."

"Bacon and eggs?" Dayton couldn't help but snort. The levity was a welcome reprieve, however brief. "Just make sure you all get out in time."

"Of course," Malus replied.

"Let's move, people!" Dayton ordered.

---------

Keeping Mendax occupied while Malus was gone was proving to be difficult. Baltar had used every skill of bureaucratic persuasion he had ever learned to circumvent the Cylon IL from accessing Starbuck's cortical scan and exposing their ruse. Sadly, destroying the Brain Scan unit itself did not destroy the data. Normal procedure had it transferred to the ship's main data banks upon completion. Yes, Baltar had weaved magnificent tales of battle and conquest, utilizing some of his own adventures, greatly embellished upon, while he was a Cylon commander on a _Hades_-class Base Star. Overall, he had seemed successful in deterring Mendax from finding out more about the "Angylion prince" now that Starbuck was parenthetically out of the way. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the blatant omission of concluding the interrogation would prod the IL into action. However, for now the inevitable attack of "the Borg" took precedence over the motivations of a prince of a people they would soon leave behind.

"So you will be staying to engage the enemy?" Mendax asked.

"Why, it would hardly be responsible of us to upgrade your technology and then abandon you to figure it out for yourself without even running you through a simulation," Baltar replied reasonably. To maintain the ruse, and run the program, they had to be present. Baker had been certain that they could create a believable illusion if he could orchestrate it from beginning to finish . . . up until their successful escape, which Baltar was feeling a little unsure of. It was a relatively long way from the Command Centre to the launch bay. Precisely the same distance as aboard his own ship, in fact. Their extra crewmembers were now reporting to the landing bay in preparation for their return to the _Endeavour_. Of course, Baltar knew that his _own_ delivery to that ship would mean his inevitable return to incarceration. But remaining here would be certain death, unless he suddenly switched sides, which was an option that oddly didn't sit will with him at this point. Even so, a victory by Mendax was very problematical, given the condition of his ship, compared to Dayton's. He had to admit, the pistol on his hip felt very good right now. If only there was some way . . . "You need our expertise at this point, and as we've said before, Portex and Bakon are the foremost authorities."

"And Admiral Malus as well?" probed the IL.

"Admiral Malus has adopted a somewhat human-style approach to command with our alliance. It inspires confidence in our forces to have him on the Bridge, especially when we're introducing state-of-the-art technology in battle that many look at sceptically until they finally see it in action for themselves."

Mendax nodded slowly. "I admit, the data that Admiral Malus gave me requires even more somewhat elusive data for me to correlate exactly how it all works."

"Which data?" Baltar asked slowly. He glanced at his chrono wishing Malus would hurry up. Then he winced as he caught himself relying on a starry-eyed IL Series Cylon with a definite hiccough in his programming.

"What exactly _are_ dilithium crystals?" Mendax asked.

----------

With "Admiral" Malus leading them, they weren't questioned once as they headed for the launch bay. Once there, Luana motioned for Lia to precede her into the Hybrid Fighter, walking over to gently caress her husband's cheek.

"_Innamorato_?" she called quietly.

"He's still unconscious, but his life signs are stable," Malus told her, once again shifting the Colonial Warrior in his arms as the others made to board the shuttle. He ran his multi-spectral scanners over the insensate human several times, assessing his injuries and vital signs. Despite all he had been through, and the serious neural trauma he had suffered via the Brain probe, the warrior's physical state was surprisingly good. The rest of the crew had arrived with their array of technological equipment for the newly "implemented" Shatner Technology. Now, only Baltar, Baker and Porter remained in the Command Centre. "I admit that I am curious, Luana . . ."

She looked up at the IL. "About what?"

"Will you go with Starbuck to the Life Station, or take part in the battle? After all, you are a reserve pilot under Colonel Apollo's direct command."

Luana smiled. "Once I see Starbuck to the Life Station, I'll be out there with the rest of the warriors. You're right, I am a reserve pilot, but unless these Raiders are as low on tylium as we suspect, they'll need every available pilot we have out there. We only have two functional squadrons."

"I have trouble reconciling that you are willing to leave him, knowing that he was captured by the enemy and brain probed as well. From what Colonel Apollo mentioned on the way here, he was disoriented and emotionally distraught."

"Mal, Starbuck's in good hands. I know that," she replied, glancing at Dayton and Apollo talking by the shuttle. Dayton paused to watch them for a moment before clasping Apollo's hand and heading towards them. "And as much as I'd like to stay with him, I have my duty."

"Starbuck is your husband. Surely that rates higher than duty?"

"Mal, there _isn't_ a scale."

"Unfortunate. As I would study it and learn for myself why you would abandon my Starbuck when he needs you most."

She raised her eyebrows. "You're a good friend to him, Malus. I'm honoured that you care so deeply for him that you would even bring this up."

"But you are still going to leave him."

She nodded. "I don't _want_ to, but I have to."

Malus nodded, running this data through his "Human Cultural Database" files. The results were less than satisfying. "I admit that I do not understand, and I conclude that I would certainly choose differently were our positions reversed." He looked down at the human that he carried, the one who had made it possible for him to change his life so completely, and to begin to fulfil potentials that he had once thought impossible under Cylon rule. One man who had made it all possible just because he had believed in Malus. The human who had become so . . . so inexpressibly dear to him, despite what had once seemed like an unbridgeable gulf between them.

Malus was an IL Series Cylon, designed, built, programmed, and equipped to fulfil but a single purpose: to forward the Alliance's inflexible and unchangeable goal. _Destroy all Humans._ Yet, despite all, despite the destruction of Starbuck's civilization at Cylon hands, and the slaughter of billions of his fellow beings, the young man had believed that even a Cylon had the potential to deny his programming, to rise above mere lines of algorithms and code, to reach for the stars and to follow his dreams. To _have _dreams. It was so entirely inspiring and poetic that Malus would have cried had it been technologically possible . . . as he watched the boarding continue, he figured he might just engineer some artificial tears for such an occasion . . . maybe after he changed the colour of his optical sensors to blue. And the illumination circuitry for his vocal modulator was currently blue, which when he gazed down at Starbuck, he realized was all wrong. It should be red, like human lips. He had to turn the two colours around in order to fit in better with humans. He might even consider getting some . . . _clothes_ . . . Starbuck fidgeted, his eyes fluttering open, his head lolling like a drunken man's as he murmured incoherently. Within mere millicentons, all other thoughts were brushed aside, every fibre of Malus' existence focusing on the human.

"Rest easy, Starbuck. You are safe."

---------

All in all, Ryan decided that he didn't recommend transport by Oculus, and in the future would do all he could to avoid it. He stumbled, feeling disoriented as he heard the voices of countless Angylions on the battlefield that Eirys had directly transported them to. Rubbing his bleary eyes, he remembered to secure his Life Station gown, when a childlike cry of terror just about tore out his heart.

"_Dad_!"

The sound of a mechanical dog working itself into a frenzy only added to the hysteria, as Angylion soldiers hesitated between destroying the beast that was obviously cybernetic—which they understandably equated with Cylons—and approaching the grieving child.

Boxey had thrown himself on the wounded Glynn, the Angylion prince unconscious and obviously close to death. All of seven-years-old and transported via a magical sphere by a sorceress to another planet where everybody looked like an angel or demigod. Chiselled, burly, handsome, most of these soldiers looked like they had just flown down from Mount Olympus on their winged stallions.

_ Pegasus_? _No, that would be just way too weird. _

"He's not your Dad, Boxey," Cassiopeia was there in a micron, peeling the wailing boy off the prince. "Just like Prince Llewelyn looks like Starbuck, Prince Glynn looks like your Dad." She cradled the shaken boy to her breast, screening the view of the bloody wound. "But he's _not_ your Dad. I promise." She looked directly at Ryan then, silently begging him to intervene.

"But he does need Cassie's help, Boxster," Ryan told him, lifting the small boy in his arms, and ignoring the ensuing chuckles and gibes as his gown flapped open in the breeze. "She's gonna do everything she possibly can, to save him. You and I are going to take a walk . . . maybe find me some pants . . . How about you call your dog?"

"Dawg?" Boxey sniffed.

"Muffin?" Ryan asked, nodding toward the droid. Cassie was already working on Glynn, Llewelyn keeping watch.

"Muffit," Boxey replied quietly. "He's a _daggit_." The droid followed along behind, dutifully.

"Muffit the daggit. All right." _Jaysus Murphy__,__ I'm arguing terminology with a kid who still has baby teeth! It's enough to drive a man to drink . . . if he knew where the hell to get one around here! __"_How about I tell you where your Dad is, and what he's doing to help Starbuck and Commander Dayton right now?" Ryan looked far above them, to where he figured the Base Ships would roughly be, give or take a few hundred thousand clicks. His eyes narrowed when he heard a strange sound, like wind rushing through a narrow channel. He turned to see shooting balls of light speed across the sky.

"What are they?" Boxey cried.

"I'm not sure, kid," Ryan replied, feeling his guts twist with discomfort as he searched his memory for a story that Starbuck had told him at some point. Why did those kinds of stories always come out after he was halfway under the table? It had something to do with that Ship of Lights, he was_ almost _tentatively uncertain.

Then the lights were gone.

---------

He felt like a kid again. Warm, comfortable, safe . . . soaring through an endless field of stars without a fighter, it was every child's dream and the ultimate in freedom. It gave Starbuck a familiar feeling of security as though he'd been here before . . . _dreamed_ this before. He stretched out his arms, turning his body in consecutive spirals, almost laughing aloud at the joy of it as he chased a shooting star and overtook it. It was better than a high stakes card game, a fine ambrosa, the best fumarello. It was _almost_ as good as sex . . . but not quite.

_Starbuck _. . .

The beckoning voice was barely discernable, yet his flesh raised with a sudden inexplicable apprehension. He drifted through the heavens, straining to pick up the sound once again, wishing for a moment for a Viper with a scanner . . . after all, this was _his _dream and he should be able to manipulate it by will.

_Starbuck!_

"Ama?" he called, knowing beyond doubt it was the Empyrean necromancer, as surely as he knew his own name. But how did Ama get into his dream? "Where are you?"

Then the field of stars abruptly disappeared, leaving him in a deep, dank cavern. A sudden chill infused him, and he automatically reached for his weapon, only to find his holster empty. Swallowing down the lump of fear in his throat, he looked around to see two altars side by side, but both split jaggedly down the middle. Dust hung in the air, water _dripp_ed somewhere, and debris cluttered the ground of the chamber that he knew had been the Angylion Holy Sanctum.

"Ama?" he called again, and this time the echo of his voice eerily answered him. A faint, but distinctly foul scent permeated the air, wafting down a tunnel that should have led to the mine. A step in that direction, and the air grew even cooler. He was sure he could see the vapour from his breath, and he clenched his hands into fists against the chill as he hesitated on the edge of some imaginary precipice, reluctant to proceed.

_Star-buck _. . .

The spectral whisper lured him forward, while a tendril of light weaved a mesmerizing path towards him, as though coming to greet him. He was moving closer to it, drawn like a moth to a flame, before he even realized he'd taken a step. At first transparent, it seemed to increase in substance as it wound a serpentine path through the air towards him. Sinuous and alluring, it tempted and teased, even as his internal klaxons warned of the danger.

_Come _. . .

Well . . . it was _only_ a dream. What harm could it do?

He slowly reached out a hand, feeling the tendrils tickle his fingertips, nipping at them, freezing the ends . . . then an icy grip jerked him forward, and he was plunging headlong through the biting cold, yelling in horror. The roar of the wind filled his ears, as his stomach jumped into his throat, and he reasoned he'd lost control of this dream_. Time to wake up, Bucko . . . _

A baleful laughter pummelled his senses, even as he collapsed to the frigid surface in the darkness. He gasped for a breath, forcing himself to all fours, before a faint glimmer from only a metron away caught his eye. As much as he knew it couldn't bode well, he felt compelled to go, to find out . . .

He crawled forward over the jagged surface, tentatively reaching for the shiny object. It felt warm in his hand, and when he picked it up, it began to gleam, casting a luminous glow. It was just enough light to see the crumpled figure nearby.

He sucked in a panicked breath, finding his feet and skittering to her side. She was face down, her limbs at odd angles. He gently rolled her over, hearing the sickening grinding of her bones, and shuddering at the moan torn from her throat. Then he gasped in horror at the sight of the wizened old woman with the haunted grey eyes staring vacuously back at him.

"_Ama_!"

Starbuck lurched forward, coming to a sudden stop, as restraints across his lap held him secure. Letting out a ragged breath, he gasped in astonishment. The backs of two heads, the starscape through the viewport, the _Endeavour_ looming ahead . . .

"You finally awake? Is that what it takes to have a Cylon get the hots for you? Lots of rack time, _Sleeping Beauty_?" Dayton asked wryly from the jump seat behind him.

Starbuck's heart was beating so hard, it was sure to jump through his chest at any moment. He let his head flop back, and caught his breath, trying to reorient himself, as he squeezed his hand around the warmth within it. Slowly, he uncurled his fingers . . .

"On final approach, Commander," Lia reported.

_". . . __you are cleared for approach,__Phoenix One__,"_squeaked the speaker.

_"_They have us."

"How are you feeling, Starbuck?" Luana looked back over her shoulder, pausing as she took in his ashen appearance. "_Starbuck_?"

Within his hand was a deformed, melted silver hunk of metal with a leather cord attached to it. It glowed every so slightly, still warm in his touch.

"We have to find Ama!" he croaked.

"Right after we blow up Mendax . . ." Dayton started to reply.

"NOW!" Starbuck roared, feeling a rising foreboding. "She's. . . in trouble!" He felt the bile rise in his throat. "She's hurt. I'll bet that Iblis . . ."

"Whoa now! Where's this coming from?" Dayton asked tolerantly, as both sisters and Coxcoxtli turned to regard him anxiously.

Starbuck held out the piece of metal. "I had a . . . a dream . . . something . . . I don't know what to call it," he told them as Luana reached back, taking the object from his hand. He took several deep breaths, trying to make his mind stop spinning.

"Holy frack . . ." she muttered in disbelief. "It's Ama's talisman, or at least it _was_. It's as though it's been melted down . . . Where did you get it? _How_ . . .?"

"You're asking _me_?" he murmured, drawing in another steadying breath. "All I know is she's somewhere near the Holy Sanctum . . . sort of."

"Sort of?" Lia replied sceptically. "That doesn't sound good."

"Listen, kid, you're not going anywhere except to the Life Station."

"Wanna bet?" Starbuck growled. "She's in _trouble_, Dayton. Sagan sakes, we left her with Diabolis!"

"Damn it, Starbuck, for as long as I've known you you've had trouble accepting your limitations . . ." Dayton began to rant.

"Well, that might sound a bit more definitive if you'd known me longer than _seven sectars_ . . ." Starbuck countered, feeling his defences go up full force in reaction to Dayton's criticism. Shortly after meeting him, the Earthman had born witness to Starbuck losing consciousness in his fighter. Mainly because he was too stubborn to admit he was in no condition to fly, and in too much of a hurry to get back to an injured Luana on the _Galactica._

"Commander, whether or not Starbuck's coming, I'd like permission to go investigate the Holy Sanctum. Either way, we need to find out what happened to Ama," Lia told him as she smoothly brought the fighter in for a landing.

"Count me in," Luana added, her hands running over the controls as the Hybrid Raider came to a stop.

"Now wait just a gollmonging micron! There's no way you two are going anywhere near Iblis without me!" Starbuck averred, releasing his harness and climbing out of the seat. Surprisingly, he felt . . . good. As though his weird dream had been as therapeutic as it was a warning.

"You in particular, or anyone with more experience?" Luana asked, looking him up and down doubtfully.

"Me in particular!" Starbuck replied heatedly, trying to calm himself down, and knowing he wasn't being especially convincing in his present state of turmoil as his commander looked at him dubiously. "Look, I have nothing but my gut instinct to go on . . . but I get the feeling that I'm _supposed_ to be there. That it's important." He shook his head in annoyance, as Lia tilted her head in apparent amusement. The transformation was complete. He was officially Empyrean-ized. If Ama wasn't lying in a crumpled heap somewhere, he was sure she'd be cackling in glee. Lords . . . he'd do _anything_ to hear that cackle coming from that gapped-tooth grin once again. To hear her call him _Son of my Heart_. "That woman's the closest thing I've had to a . . ." his throat tightened with emotion, but he pressed onward, ". . . a _mother_ since I was a child, Dayton. I _have_ to help her. I can't just _cower_ in a thorn bush . . . Not again."

"Bloody hell, kid," Dayton murmured, as he climbed out of his seat. He glanced at his chrono, and took a step towards the young strike captain. "Are you trying to tell me that somehow in this dream Ama communicated with you and actually managed to give you her talisman?" He looked down at the savaged sigil. "As a kind of message?"

"Or proof that it happened. As crazy as it sounds, that's what I'm telling you," Starbuck nodded, meeting his commander's eyes. "Dayton. She didn't look too good."

Dayton sighed, closing his eyes slightly and nodding, seeming to have come to some kind of decision. "Look Starbuck, I want you to take a minute . . . centon to really think about this. If you truly decide that after being hauled through dimensions by Eirys, forcibly aligned with Baltar, almost sacrificed to raise your Doublewalker from the dead, thrown from a runaway mine cart, almost executed, then brain probed . . . if after all of that you really think you're up for leading your _wife_ and her _sister_ on a mission to save not only a woman that loves you like a son, but is also a member of the Council of the Twelve . . . well then, I give you my permission to go back to Morlais. But _son_," he put a hand on Starbuck's shoulder, pausing to study his reaction, "you'd better understand that you're putting more than yourself at risk if you're not up for this." He squeezed Starbuck's shoulder. "It's your call. And you'd bloody well better be right, Captain. Because if you end up dead because of this, I'll kill ya."

Starbuck nodded, meeting Dayton's grey eyes for a long moment before the commander turned to go. It struck him how alike in colour they were to Ama's . . .

_Ama._

"How's our fuel?" he called forward. If he did this, he'd need a weapon . . . not that it would work on Iblis. At least a laser wouldn't . . .

"Eighty-percent," Lia called back.

A gentle hand settled on his shoulder, tugging ever so slightly. He turned, and Lu slipped into his arms, pressing herself against him. It took a moment for him to allow himself to awkwardly return the embrace, feeling strangely apart from her in a way he didn't understand. He breathed in her scent, felt her curves press against him, heard her softly murmur, "_Innamorato_". It chipped away at the numbness that held him prisoner, keeping him an emotional step away, even as she held him close. A sweet agony swept over him, penetrating his defences, and he melted into her embrace. Tears pricked his eyes, but for the life of him, he didn't know why.

"_Lu_ . . ."

"I love you," she whispered, tilting up his chin to search his eyes when he didn't respond. "Whatever you decide, I trust that you're making the right decision."

He chewed on that a moment, then nodded. "Then let's go find Ama."

----------

With the aid of the search light from the shuttle as well as several fires on the ground, from the air Apollo could see tiny Cylon and Angylion bodies strewn across the battlefield that had once surrounded Mendax's Base Ship. His militarily-trained eye could pick out the three fronts that the Angylions had advanced from, and where the centurions had engaged them. A few tents had been erected in various locations, probably to treat the wounded, but when he noticed a black tent, the shade of the Angylion Palace Guard, banners fluttering from its top, he gave orders to set down nearby. That's where he would find Cassie, Ryan . . . and Boxey.

The hatch couldn't open quickly enough, and he ground his teeth together wondering what he would find as Sheba lay a supportive hand on his arm. Through a viewport, his eyes ran over the crowd that had gathered to gape at the Cylon transport, unsure whether to attack it, or applaud it. Angylions lowered their swords as they spotted the human crew within. Apollo was torn between his fear for Boxey and wanting to ream the boy out. Then there was the fact that he was exhausted, having gone virtually non-stop since they had left the Fleet on their shakedown cruise. It didn't exactly leave a father in the best frame of mind for dealing with his rebellious seven-yahren-old.

"_Dad_!"

A sharp mechanical bark added to the shouts of his son. Letting out a breath of relief, Apollo jumped off the shuttle, racing towards the small figure darting towards him. Boxey leapt into his arms, and Apollo hugged him tightly, realizing the boy was all right. His son clung to him, murmuring something he couldn't quite hear.

"What?" Apollo asked, pulling his son back so he could look into his eyes.

"You're really okay," the boy sobbed, his face tear-stained. "I thought it was you. Ryan and Cassie told me it wasn't . . . but I thought it was _you_."

"_Shh_," Apollo murmured, pulling his son close once again, although a little confused. Sheba caught up to them, her own relief plain.

"Prince Glynn was wounded, Apollo," Ryan said as he approached. The Earthman was slightly hunched over, his hand guarding his abdomen. Still wearing his Life Station gown from his brief rest on the _Endeavour_, at least the man had found some much needed pants. "When Boxey saw Glynn, he thought it was you."

"What happened?" Apollo asked, stroking his son's hair as Ryan explained to them how Eirys and Llewelyn had used the Oculus to find them on the _Endeavour_, and had begged for help to save Prince Glynn. Apparently, Boxey had "stowed away" once again, as the sorceress used her magic to take them back to Morlais.

Apollo winced, sharing a frown with Sheba before looking back at the boy. "Boxey, do you know how lucky you are that you're still in one piece?" He fought to keep from shouting, whether from anger or relief he did not know. "What if something had gone wrong?"

"Nothing did," the boy sniffed, still clinging to his father. "I'm alright. Just like Arcta."

Apollo bowed his head, raking a hand through his hair. "_Boxey_." _Yeah, just like Arcta. I could have lost __. . ._ The boy had accepted Apollo into his life so easily and readily after the Destruction, that the officer hadn't been prepared when Boxey had started giving him so much trouble during these last few sectars. He had thought that the cooperative program would be the answer, and maybe it _would_ help, but it still wasn't going to take the place of having his father there with him. It was one of those times in his life where he fervently wished that Serina could be there, even more for their son's sake than for his own. She would have known just what to say, _just_what to do. She always seemed to know instinctively what the boy needed. Then again, if Serina were alive, none of this would have happened. Their son would have had at least one parent with him. While Serina wanted to do her part for the Fleet, like everyone else in uniform, she was hardly a "lifer" in the Colonial Service. They had talked about finding a balance between career and family . . . of course, before they had discussed it in any detail she had been gunned down on Kobol.

"Jaysus Murphy, Boxster Boy, if Mother Ryan was in charge here you'd have your ears boxed, your hide tanned, and you'd be grounded until the cows came home, which didn't happen a whole lot in Carrot Creek, Alberta. Mostly they wandered away and were eaten by our neighbours," Ryan told them. Ever helpfully.

Rolling her eyes at the Earthman, Sheba kneeled down beside the father and son. "Boxey, as difficult as it is to understand at times, your father makes decisions that are meant to keep you safe because he _loves_ you. It was no different when he was your age, and Commander Adama had to go on missions, or when I had to watch _my _father leave. Yes, it hurts, and yes, I wanted to follow, but . . ." She took a deep breath. "Landing in the aftermath of a battle between a race of humanoids and the Cylons wouldn't be high on my list of places I'd want you to visit either." The boy turned to look at her and she wiped a streak of dirt from his cheek. "Your Dad cares about you . . . _we _care about you. We want you to be safe. To have as normal a childhood as the circumstances can provide. We want you playing with other children and going to instructional periods, not sneaking around battleships and being subject to sights that ideally we try to protect our children from. There will be plenty of time for stealth missions when you become a fully fledged Colonial Warrior, Boxey. But part of being a junior warrior is abiding by the rules."

The boy paused, looking between the three adults. "Am I grounded?"

Apollo smiled slightly, pulling his son back into a tight embrace. The boy wanted to get to the crux of the matter. "Till the _cows_ come home . . . whatever they are."

Ryan grinned. "I believe you call them _bovines_. Apollo, Llewelyn's been waiting for you. Eirys mentioned that blood from Glynn's Doublewalker would probably save his life."

"Llewelyn knew I'd come . . ." Apollo murmured.

"Well, it's not like he knew Boxey was your son, but when he found out . . ." Ryan shrugged, glancing back towards the tent. "Yeah, it followed you'd be here quick like Speedy Gonzalez. Cassie's doing her best, but hey, when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

"Quick like Speedy Who? And _Rome_?" Apollo asked, his brow furrowed as he stood up, grabbing his son's hand. Was there no end to these Earthisms?

"Hail Mighty Caesar, and pass the Clamato!" Ryan replied, heading for the tent and motioning for them to follow.

Apparently not.

----------

Dayton strode into the _Endeavour_'s Control Centre, slapping a hand on Dorado's shoulder as the captain updated him on the situation and readiness of their crew. Much as he'd expected, the vast creativity and knowledge of his team had flourished when push came to shove, and they had come up with something completely unorthodox, with which to baffle the Cylons. When he had started recruiting this crew, he hadn't wanted warriors who were simply going to follow orders, but instead thinkers, doers, and risk takers. The Covert Operations Ship was an entirely new concept in the Colonial Service, and for it to succeed as Starbuck and Dorado had first envisioned, it had to deviate from the traditional command structure at several points. "Great job, everyone," he told them, crossing to where Coxcoxtli manned his station. "Now tell me how this is going to work."

"How about I show you as well, sir?" Coxcoxtli replied, as the chrono on the control panel counted down ever closer towards 0000.

"You have my undivided attention, Corporal," Dayton nodded, watching the young man bring up an image on screen. A screen capture from _Star Trek_ that had been digitally altered and enhanced, it showed three Borg vessels frozen in space and time.

"It will work just like a simulation, Commander. Malus wrote a program, inputting it into the _Harbinger_'s mainframe that will completely subvert their sensors and scanners. All real inputs will be completely ignored while this program is running. The Earth 'moo-vee' you see here is essentially for our reference, but as our simulated Borg vessels figuratively enter this dimension, the Cylons will be receiving correlating data in their Control Centre to register that."

"How the heck did Malus have time to put that together?" Dayton asked, amazed at the IL's achievement.

"It's only a five centon simulation, Commander," Dorado inserted. "That's all we had time for, even at the speed Malus can work. Then it will essentially start to repeat itself, which might give us a few more microns until the Cylons realize they've been duped. By then the _Endeavour_ will be in position, and ready to attack."

"And our people are intrinsic to facilitating the ruse?" Dayton asked, frowning. "Why?"

"We're trying to keep Mendax busy, so he won't review Starbuck's cortical scan until it's too late to be of any help to him. Leaving our people in place makes that more likely. And, of course, Malus will be guiding Mendax through proper procedure as the sim runs," Dorado explained.

"And somehow Malus, Baker, Porter and Baltar are supposed to get to our only remaining fighter in the launch bay unhindered, and escape while all this is going on?" Dayton asked incredulously.

Coxcoxtli winced. "Not exactly, Commander . . ."

_"__Not exactly__?"_repeated Dayton, with a whiff of ire. "Corporal, give it to me, and I had better like this! I don't leave my men behind!"

---------

"I don't understand _how_ . . . but I think he's going to be okay now," Cassie murmured to Eirys and Apollo as she ran her biomonitor over Prince Glynn once again. By the time she'd reached the young Angylion prince, he'd been near death from trauma and extensive hemorrhaging. She'd lost him twice during surgery, and even volume expanders and blood transfusions hadn't seemed to matter, as though Glynn was destined to die on this night. Although initially rebelling at the very thought, she had been beginning to lose hope . . .

Then his Doublewalker had arrived.

With the first milliletrons of Apollo's blood transfusing into Glynn's body, his life signs had improved with his pulse, respiration, and even brainwave patterns slowly returning to a baseline condition as Eirys had promised. After a full unit of the precious fluid, the prince was finally resting soundly, all bleeding from his wounds having ceased, as the _Endeavour_'s only fully qualified medical officer pondered the miracle in silent disbelief.

"There are a lot more injured warriors that I could be helping right now," Cassie told Apollo, finally satisfied, as she started repacking her medical kit. Ryan was already out there treating minor wounds much as he'd taken care of the Earth space shuttle's crew during their yahrens on the pirate asteroid. "How much time do I have?"

"We're not getting in the middle of a battle between capital ships," Apollo replied, glancing down at the prince. The Angylion's eyes were opening. A micron later his brother, Llewelyn, was leaning down beside him reassuring him. It was so bizarre to be gazing on replicas of himself and Starbuck, knowing that in this dimension the men were brothers. "Especially in a shuttle. Go ahead, Cassie."

She nodded, turning to go, and sparing a look at Boxey, now curled up in Sheba's embrace, catching up on some much needed sleep. His trusty daggit watched over him.

"Thank you for your understanding and assistance," Eirys offered with a smile. "You kept our prince alive until Apollo could arrive. Iblis was once again denied the fulfilment of his evil desires thanks to your skill."

"Yes, thank you, Lady Cassiopeia," Llewelyn quickly intercepted her as she began to leave. He bowed before her, taking her hand, and lightly caressing the back of it with his lips. Her skin tingled, as though enervated by his touch. She felt her stomach flutter. "I am forever in your debt for what you have done for my brother."

Cassie smiled. He may have _looked_ like Starbuck, but he was certainly far more charming than the Colonial Warrior . . . and every _other_ man that she had met in her lifetime. "I'm . . . I'm glad I could help, Llewelyn. And I'm glad you realized you could come to me for help when you needed it."

"Your generous spirit and knowledge of the healing arts are as beguiling as your breathtaking beauty, Lady," Llewelyn smiled, and the effect on her was a little overwhelming. "If only you could stay . . ." He sighed sadly, leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, "I fear you have stolen my heart . . . but I part with it gladly, knowing you will keep it safe. And alas, once you have left me behind in Morlais, I shall have no further need of it."

Recognizing the mischievous sparkle in his sea blue eyes, Cassie giggled at his blatant flattery . . . then abruptly put a hand over her mouth, stifling her school girl reaction. She didn't miss Sheba's little smirk or Apollo's dubious glance in her direction, but she was having far too much fun to let it impact her. Ignoring them, she leaned forward and kissed the prince on the cheek, feeling her own flush warmly as she did so. "Take care of yourself, Llewelyn. And your brother."

Once again, Llewelyn kissed her hand, and then reluctantly released it as she turned to go. He held up the flap of the tent for her to pass through, and continued to watch as she disappeared into the shadows of the firelight. "Your commander is a fortunate man, Colonel Apollo."

"He is," Apollo replied with a smile in Sheba's direction. His own lady's eyebrows were raised, and he knew she was pondering the attraction that the young prince had for Cassie, and drawing a parallel between Starbuck and Cassie in their own dimension.

"Ah, welcome, Mouric! You took so long getting here, I was concerned you were dead!" Llewelyn suddenly announced, as a dark-haired man stepped into the tent, rushing to Glynn's side. Built like the others, he was tall, muscular, with long hair trailing down his back. A fresh field dressing, Colonial in origin, covered his right upper arm, and the contrast between the white bandage and the dirt and sweat-covered individual was stark.

"Glynn! How are ya faring?" the young man asked while Apollo felt his jaw drop open. "In faith, tis good to see ye hale!"

"Zac?" Apollo gasped as he gazed upon the likeness of his younger brother.

----------

Starbuck raced up the hill leading to the Angylion Holy Sanctum, wincing at the evident devastation since he had last been there. Shattered trees, many still burning or smouldering, littered the landscape. Rocks were smashed, destroyed centurions were strewn about, and craters peppered the landscape everywhere. Admittedly, some of the destruction had been due to the attack of a Cylon Raider's strafing runs, but the rest could only be attributed to the inevitable duel between Ama and Count Iblis. His guts twisted, all too aware that the Empyrean necromancer wasn't exactly rushing out to greet them. His "dream" had been horrifying, and he had the worst feeling that it would somehow come true. Unconsciously, his grip tightened on his sword hilt.

"Blessed Triquetra," Lia murmured at his side, as a plume of dust hung in the air outside the cave entrance. All the usual sounds of nature conspicuously absent, the lingering silence bespoke of a warning.

"_Ama_!" Luana called out, unable to contain her own anxiety as she fingered her godmother's talisman in her left hand. She pulled her laser.

"Might as well throw rocks," Starbuck told her. "I shot Iblis when he . . ." Saying the word was always difficult. "When he _killed_ Apollo. It didn't have any effect on him, Lu. He's not from our realm."

"So how are we going to protect ourselves from him?" Luana replied.

"Well, assuming he's still around, he's probably not big on Kobollian chants," Starbuck offered, moving closer to the mouth of the cave. He pulled an illuminator out of his pack. "Not that they would hurt him exactly, but they'd probably annoy the Hades out of him."

"Do you have anything more useful?" Lia glanced at him.

"There are rules for his kind," Starbuck sighed, since he didn't happen to have an elusive copy of the _Beings of Light Regulation Manual_. "One thing we learned though was that he can't hurt us unless we give him dominion over us."

"It's that easy?" Luana asked.

"I_ never _said it would be easy, just that we needed to do it. And he'll use every deception there is to trick you into handing him dominion," Starbuck replied, remembering being on the _Rising Star_ for the celebrations after Boomer's triad team had defeated him and Apollo, and then having a drink with Count Iblis which had turned into a few too many. It had almost completely incapacitated him when an alert had been called. And he hadn't been alone. Even good ole reliable Boomer had been flat on his back, and had actually needed Apollo to help him stand up straight. Starbuck drew in a breath, taking a step into the thick, obscuring dust and coughing as he sucked it into his lungs. "Life masks."

A moment later the three of them entered the cavern with life masks in place. A chill ran down Starbuck's spine as he spotted the two altars split in two, as they had been in his _dream_. Crumbled rock littered the ground, and he could almost imagine Iblis throwing lightning bolts at the Empyrean Necromancer with a wave of his hand. The strike captain shone his light around the chamber, checking for signs of life, and not finding any. He cursed.

"Holy frack . . ." Lu murmured.

"_Ama_!" Starbuck called, not the least bit surprised when she didn't answer. He pulled his scanner off his belt, not leaving anything to chance. The scan was negative for life forms.

"You mentioned the tunnel," Luana reminded him of the details they had dragged out of him on the way there. She pointed in that direction.

"Yeah," Starbuck murmured, reluctantly heading in that direction, wearily watching for tendrils of light with direct portals to Hades Hole.

----------

A living, breathing Zac.

The image of his own brother, alive and looking at him, in a dimension far removed from their own. The frenzied emotions sweeping over Apollo were overwhelmingly painful in their intensity as he explained in a hoarse and at times choked voice to the Angylions, that Mouric, one of Glynn's friends from early childhood, was his deceased brother Zac's Doublewalker. By now General Caradoc had joined them, catching up on the events.

"Then that disproves the legend!" Llewelyn stated, glancing over at Eirys. "How long have we thought that the death of a Doublewalker will result in the death of a kindred spirit across the Infinite?"

"Long have I believed that many of those legends and prophesies passed on through the generations were actually myths, Prince Llewelyn," Eirys returned. "Put in place to prevent us from testing the powers of the Oculus."

"Prevent you from testing it?" Apollo asked, shaking his head. "I don't understand. You used it to bring Starbuck and Baltar here."

"For eight millennia before that it sat in its tabernacle upon Mt. Cadoc in the Holy Sanctum, merely watching over us, or so we were led to believe. Its powers were said to be immense, and dangerous, and we treated it with reverence and due respect. It was forbidden to be handled by all but the most senior of palace sorcerers, one of which I most definitely was not. Then, one night, unseen by any, I . . . I betrayed my vows, taking the Oculus to uncover its secrets. It was then that Iblis came to Morlais. What happened then you already know. Over the years, I have passed long hours in the archives, pouring over ancient records, trying to discover the true secret of the Oculus."

"And did you?" Apollo asked.

Eirys smiled enigmatically. "While I was both raised _and_ trained to believe that the Oculus was watching over us, it was in fact the opposite. We were the designated Keepers of the Oculus, entrusted to us by the Mystic, Llyr."

"These Mystics," Apollo posed, his eyes once again falling hungrily on Mouric. In Morlais, Mouric was Glynn's friend, fellow warrior, and sometimes squire, but Llewelyn was his brother. A slight twist of events from Apollo's dimension, and one that made him appreciate all the more the brother he had _chosen_ in life, since his own brother had died in a barrage of Cylon salvos, the victim of treason. "I wonder if they're the same Beings that we refer to as the Beings of Light, or others have called the Guardians."

"Is Iblis one of these Guardians?" Glynn asked.

Apollo nodded. "Possibly. We never really did get a straight answer to that one. However, he seems to work in opposition to everything they stand for. Lies, corruption, inflicting misery. But, as far as I have seen, the Beings from the Ship of Lights act to protect humanity from Iblis' influence."

"If these Guardians are so powerful, why can they not stop him?" Mouric asked.

"Because they cannot interfere with freedom of choice, not even Count Iblis'. There are rules they must abide by, but we never did understand them very well. They were kind of cryptic."

"They sound rather impotent for Beings so powerful," Llewelyn frowned sceptically. "Does one of them not own a sword?"

"_Llewelyn_," Glynn admonished him, while Mouric laughed, obviously agreeing.

"Do you view these Guardians as good? Altruistic?" Eirys asked Apollo.

"Yes, certainly," Apollo nodded. "From what we've learned of them, they seem to have the ability to transcend time and space, even life and death. Their powers are significant." He glanced at Sheba. "Yet, I only sensed something good, pure and caring about them when we did encounter them up close."

"The light of goodness and truth," Sheba murmured, nodding. "Like Princes Glynn and Llewelyn, Count Iblis struck Apollo down. We believed he was . . . dead." She drew a deep breath, keeping herself composed. "The Beings of Light brought him back."

"You are favoured then, Doublewalker," Glynn nodded approvingly. "To be struck down, and yet see the sun again."

"As are you," Apollo nodded.

"But who _are_ they exactly?" Llewelyn asked. "And where were they when _we_ needed them?"

"Ten _years_ as Odreds," Mouric hissed.

"We believe they are celestial Beings fighting against the forces of darkness," Apollo replied. "I suspect much of their war is on a different plane than the one _we_ inhabit. Only occasionally does it spill over into our realm of flesh and blood. I admit that I don't understand it all that well." He sighed, glancing upward briefly. John showing up about then would have been helpful . . . and was therefore highly unlikely.

"Ah, the eternal struggle throughout the Infinite," Glynn added sombrely. "Truly it has been said, there are more things unseen, than seen."

"So you're basically saying that these Guardians help those that help themselves," Llewelyn suggested, his eyebrows raised.

Apollo let out a short breath of disbelief. "Starbuck once said that exact same thing."

"Then he's as wise a man as I," Llewelyn grinned infectiously. "Though, blessed as he is by Heaven, I would expect no less." He lay a hand on his heart. "Yea, truly hath the sages said . . ."

"Spare us, little brother," Glynn returned with a fond smile.

"Tell us, Eirys," Mouric inserted. "After all of your studies, did you discover why we were assigned as the Keepers of the Oculus?"

"To keep it safe for eight thousand years so that destiny might be fulfilled."

"Eight thousand?" asked Sheba. "Seems a long time."

"Indeed, indeed yes," said General Caradoc.

_Apollo nodded slowly, thinking about it. __Eight thousand years__ . . .__ seven thousand yahrens since leaving Kobol__ . . . __allowing for variations in __. . .__ what if__ . . ._

"Our forefathers left Kobol, our planet of origin, roughly seven thousand _yahrens_ ago. I wonder . . ." Sheba murmured, echoing Apollo's thoughts, and pausing to think about it for a moment. "Eirys, what destiny were you speaking of?"

Eirys paused a moment, frowning slightly. "If only I'd understood earlier when I left the White Witch alone in the Holy Sanctum with Iblis . . . I now believe that the Oculus has the power to destroy Count Iblis, and that is why he was seeking it, even willing to kill our royal family for it, and enslave our race. _That_ is why it was such a closely guarded secret, disguised so innocuously and subtly right out in the open for eight millennia, but in a dimension apart."

"Hidden from Iblis for _eight millennia_?" Mouric frowned. "Are you saying that Iblis is over eight thousand years old?"

"And doesn't look a day over a hundred," Llewelyn quipped, although the concern shadowing his brow betrayed the lightness of his words.

"Mystics are immortal, Mouric. Apparently, that legend _is_ true," Eirys told Zac's Doublewalker. "We know firsthand of his evilness. I believe that is the real reason that we find ourselves united now. The fates have brought us together to destroy Count Iblis. It is written in the stars, my friends."

"Then tell us what we can do to help _destiny_ become _reality_," Llewelyn told her.

"Yes, often fate needs a gentle nudge in the right direction," Mouric grinned.

----------

A glance down at his chrono, and Baltar knew that it was time. Instinctively, he took a step closer to the hatch, and then stopped himself, exerting a self-control that had baffled the most experienced of bureauticians and military men during his lifetime. This was it. He was probably going to die on this ship. The Empyrean witch no doubt was off somewhere cackling in glee that he would die in the service of the Colonial Nation after helping to save a society of humanoids from the Cylons. He sniffed bitterly, as an image of Eirys came to mind. Strong, determined, with a sense of duty and allegiance, all characteristics that a young, idealistic Baltar had once epitomized. At least he would die knowing that in this place, this dimension, he had recaptured those qualities, and had again become a man that someone like Eirys could admire. The truth of his past would astonish her . . . and he hoped fervently for a micron that she would never find out that Commander Baltar was the most hated man in the history of the Colonial people.

"Scanners-picking-up-approaching-Borg-vessels," Bakon reported from where he and one of Mendax's centurions were manning their station. "Dropping-out-of-light-speed-now."

"Range?" demanded Malus.

"One-hundred-six-microns," replied Bakon.

"ETA?"

"One-centon, Commander."

"Battle stations!" Malus ordered.

It had begun.

"How many, Centurion?" Malus asked as Mendax crossed to that station.

"Three-Cubes."

"Defensive shields up. Get me Captain Dorado on the _Harrower_," Malus ordered.

"By-your-command. Standing-by," the centurion reported from the comm.

"Captain Dorado, we are picking up three Borg vessels on transdimensional approach."

"We have them too, Admiral," Dorado replied, his image on screen. "Our remaining fighters are scrambling and we're moving into position to intercept. Is Microsoft OS operational?"

"Bakon? Portex?" Malus asked.

"Affirmative," both replied.

"Fully functional, Captain."

"Should we launch our fighters?" Mendax asked, as he watched the scanner pick up tiny blips that could only be the remaining _Harrower_ fighters. Intriguingly, their numbers were small.

"Negative. Your fighters are not equipped with Shatner Technology, Commander," Malus replied. "On that note, have Giles launch from the _Harbinger_ to join our squadrons."

"Uh . . . Admiral, that would leave us without a transport back to our ship," Baltar pointed out. Oh, he'd already ruled out the possibility that they would ever reach the launch bay, but to actually send their only chance of escape out into "battle" went against every self-preservation instinct he had developed over the yahrens.

"No need to concern yourself, Commander Baltar," Malus replied indifferently. "He can return later to pick us up."

"Of course." Baltar crossed his arms over his chest, emitting a confident patience he didn't feel. This was supposed to be just one more battle in a long string of battles where the "Microsoft OS and Shatner Technology" would be used to overcome the Borg. He controlled his reaction as he watched three enormous vessels appear on the scanner. Even knowing they were a computer generated illusion, he still felt an instantaneous quickening of his pulse.

"They-are-scanning-us, Admiral," Bakon reported.

"Activate Microsoft OS!" Malus ordered, then said aside to Mendax. "It will infect their scanners, returning corrupted data that will start to disrupt their operations."

"Normally, at this point they would attempt to board an unprotected ship, assessing technological capabilities and deciding whether it is worth assimilating. However, they already know _our_ ships," Baltar pointed out. "Boarding will not be deemed necessary in this case." And was impossible to achieve in a simulation they had orchestrated in such a hurry.

The screen fizzled; an enormous cube-like ship replaced the image of Captain Dorado. Then a cybernetic creature, Borg-like in origin, came on screen.

"Holy-Picard, Batman," Bakon exclaimed.

"_We are the Borg. Disarm your weapons and prepare to be boarded. You will be assimilated_."

"Give it your best shot, _Brain Wipe_," Malus retorted, sounding conspicuously like Commander Dayton for a moment. "Cut communications! Get Captain Dorado back!" A moment later a tense looking Dorado was back on screen.

"Sensors are picking up distorted subspace signals as the Borg Cubes try to communicate with each other. Microsoft is working!"

"Blue-screen-of-death, here-we-come!" Bakon inserted from his station.

"We will take the one on the left," Malus reported to the _Harrower_.

"I have the other two, Admiral," Dorado replied. "Lock on targets. Stand by to fire."

"Lock on targets. Stand by to fire!" Malus ordered the _Harbinger_'s crew.

"By-your-command."

"Fire!" Malus ordered.

Laser turrets, "adapted" with Shatner Technology let loose with a barrage of firepower. Sensors registered hits on ships that didn't exist as lasers were emitted into dead space. A moment later, the Borg vessels appeared to be returning fire.

"Shields-depleting, Admiral," Portex reported.

"Recalibrate, Centurion!" Malus replied.

"By-your-command."

Baltar startled, suddenly noticing that Mendax was looking at a separate screen apart from the action. He slunk over to the station, recognizing the data from a cortical scan, although not making any sense of the algorithms crossing the screen. The IL's lights were firing furiously, and froze for a moment. At which point he had become suspicious, Baltar didn't know. Abruptly, Mendax suddenly turned back to regard the battle in progress. After all that time with Lucifer, Baltar _knew_ that pattern. That posture. That look. They were in trouble. He pulled his weapon.

"It is a deception! Take them!" Mendax ordered.

Baltar drew his weapon and fired at Mendax, just as the whole ship rocked, knocking him to his knees.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Disbelief and utter horror consumed Baltar as he fought to regain his feet, while his dropped weapon skittered across the tilting deck, coming to a stop beneath a console. This was _supposed_ to be a simulation. Yet the _Harbinger_ was shuddering, her klaxons blaring. Either the Borg of Earth fiction had made an unlikely and unsanctioned cameo appearance, or Commander Dayton of the _Endeavour_ was firing on them, not even giving them a decent opportunity for escape! In a glance, Baltar could see that his shot at the IL, Mendax, had gone wide, the result was a smouldering, sparking communications console.

"Report!" Mendax and Malus ordered simultaneously. Alarms began blaring, lights flashing on consoles all over Control Centre.

"This is _my _ship, and I will give the orders!" Mendax suddenly whirled on the other IL, all of 'Strike Captain Starbuck's' thoughts, secrets and history now laid out from the cortical scan like a tiresome melodrama. A Covert Operations Ship, the _Harrower_ was actually a battleship manned by Colonials _against_ the Cylon Empire. The Colonial-Cylon Alliance, the treaty, the Borg . . . it was all a ruse! "_You_ . . . you are a _traitor_ to the Cylon Empire!" accused Mendax, pointing a finger at his opposite number. "_TRAITOR!_ You collude with humans against your own kind! Under the guise of friendship, they _use_ you for their own selfish end!"

"Humans have treated me with more deference than _your_ kind, Mendax," Malus replied. "I merely realized I was on the wrong side."

"I have been inside the mind of the human that turned you, Malus. _Starbuck_," Mendax sneered in disdain. "He deceives you. You are but a . . .novelty! A vile, freakish experiment. You once told him that you would like a human as a pet, but now _you_ are _his_ pet!"

"Lies!" Malus hissed. "Starbuck is my friend!"

"Then why are they firing upon you now, Malus? These friends of yours?"

"Are they, Mendax?" Malus countered, glancing at the flashing red lights across the control panels. "I think not."

"_Report_!" Baltar snarled, regaining his feet, his weapon out of reach for now. "Never mind your competitive sniping! Lords of Kobol, did Lucifer have two even _more_ annoying older brothers? A plague upon you both!"

"We would be quite unaffected by a plague . . ." Malus reminded him. "Now a dysfunctional diode . . ."

"_Aarrgghh_!" Baltar let out a short scream of utter frustration, before turning towards the Earthmen. "What hit us?"

"Nothing," Bakon replied. "The-projection-matrix-has-overloaded. The-mega-pulsar-just-exploded, blowing-off-the-top-two-decks-of-the-goddamned-ship!"

"_What_?" Baltar asked in horror.

"It-had-to-be-some-kind-of-system-conflict-that-we-didn't-think-of," Portex nodded from his station. "From-the diagnostic-it-appears-that-neutrons-began-to-accelerate-within-the-magnetic-vacuum-field-chamber-until-they-reached-critical-mass. As-usual-they-were-expelled-into-the-projection-matrix, but-since-it-was-sabotaged, instead-of-firing-the-weapon-they-were-blown-back-through-the-system, causing-the-weapon-to-explode."

"Oh Hades hole!"

"Like-plugging-the-nozzle-of-a-fire-hose." Porter tore off his helmet, tossing it aside. "It's bound to blow somewhere."

"Damage report!" Mendax ordered, as the ship shuddered again, knocking Cylons and humans alike to the deck. The IL kept his feet, and scanned the readout on a screen in front of him. It was true: the mega pulsar mounted atop the ship had erupted in a violent explosion, ripping the gun itself right off the mounts, sending it tumbling away into space, and completely demolishing both that deck, and the one below it. Emergency bulkheads were attempting to close, but with the ship not up to specs, it was slow, and the force of the blast had bent bulkheads and decks, leaving several doors jammed partly open. Along with the structural damage, numerous cut-offs had been savaged and failed, allowing feedback from the overload to creep through the ship, knocking out part of her power grid. Another panel erupted in sparks, and the diagnostic screen went dead.

"Your ship is doomed, Mendax!" said Malus, and there was a cold, death-filled aspect to it. Baltar was chillingly reminded of a hit man, about to dispatch his victim. "Your ship is doomed, and so are you!"

"Then we die together!" growled Mendax, looking at him as he signalled to his centurions. "Kill him! Traitor! Kill them all!"

---------

_It is a deception! Take them! _

The IL's words were carved permanently into Dayton's brain, as he gripped the edge of the communications console, white-knuckled, while he waited for data to roll in. The jig was up. They'd been made. First the _Endeavour_ had lost communications with the _Harbinger_, and then against all odds, the topmost part of the enemy's Base Ship had exploded. Worst of all, his men were still aboard.

"I can't re-establish communications, Commander," Pierus reported. "_Harbinger_ is not responding."

"The source of the explosion was the mega-pulsar, Commander," Dorado confirmed what most of them had suspected. "The whole array just went up."

"I thought the pulsar was supposed to blow up when the _Harbinger_ fired it, _not_ on its own," Dayton glanced at the captain.

"Yes, sir," Dorado nodded. "That _was_ the plan."

"Coxcoxtli, tell me something I want to hear," Dayton told the corporal.

"Negative, Commander. I'm not detecting any signal."

"Damn!" Dayton snarled, sucking in a breath between his teeth. If things had gone to plan, they'd be lining up their own lasers to finish off the _Harbinger_ right now. But he had to give his men a little more time . . .

"Phoenix Squadron requesting permission to begin their attack, Commander," Pierus reported.

"Negative. Last report had the anti-aircraft emplacements still functional. Have them hold position for now, and engage any fighters that the _Harbinger_ launches," Dayton replied. What was Mendax going to do next? With the other's newly launched Base Ship crippled as she was, he had the time to wait and see . . . as much as he hated that course of _in_action.

"Yes, sir."

"Full bio-scan of the enemy vessel," ordered Dayton. "I want to know exactly where our people are."

"Scanning," replied Coxcoxtli.

"Waiting is the worst part," Dorado muttered beside him.

"Tell me about it," Dayton replied.

---------

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty centons had passed as Starbuck, Lu and Lia had combed through every damp, dingy, dirty, and bug-infested centimetron of that tunnel trying to find some sign of where Ama might be. Near panic and desperation gave way to frustration as he failed to find any trace of the Empyrean necromancer, despite the fact that she had lured him here . . .

"She's gone," Lu's finally gave voice to what they were all feeling. "She's gone," she said again, a whisper.

"She can't be," Starbuck turned, adjusting the beam on his illuminator, unwilling to give up. "She has to be here _somewhere_."

"You said that in your vision something pulled you to Ama . . . through some kind of passageway . . ." Lia said from ahead of him.

"In my _dream_," he clarified, nodding. Nice guys from Umbra didn't have _visions_. Necromancers, sorceresses, prophets, seers, and the occasional bedlamite, _they_ had visions. "It was . . . cold. And it smelled God-awful."

"But you haven't felt those same sensations since we've been here," Lia probed him, watching uncertainty flit across his features. "Think."

"No," he replied. Other than some trepidation when they had first arrived, those same conditions from his dream just hadn't been realized. "It's just a . . . a cavern. It's empty."

"The power of three?" Luana asked her sister. "Will it work?"

Lia nodded hesitantly. "It's worth a try. Especially with Ama's talisman as a focus."

"_Ohh_," Starbuck groaned instinctively, feeling the usual discomfiture sweep over him. Oh, he would eventually relent, but it had to be with a certain amount of reluctance . . . "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Just remember, Starbuck, _you_ started this," Lia smiled gently, crooking a finger at him. "Come here."

He sighed, feeling Lu's arm creep around his waist, guiding him forward. Lia nodded at him, holding out a hand, and taking the melted talisman from her sister. The three faced each other, the two sisters pulling out their own talismans, and waiting for him patiently to follow suit.

He pulled on the cord around his neck, freeing the talisman that he'd been gifted with by Ama so many sectars ago. Luana reached for the silver glob that had once been identical to their own. Reluctantly, he did the same.

How an inanimate hunk of metal could possibly be warm, manifestly above his own body temperature, was beyond him. Not only that, but he could swear there was a faint vibration to the talisman, as though there was energy or vitality surging through it. His fingers tingled, and he itched to let go.

"Think about Ama," Lia guided them. "Ama. Think . . .about . . .Ama . . ." Her speech slowed, as she bent her mind to the ethereal.

Starbuck blew out a breath between his teeth, taking another as he resigned himself yet again to pushing aside every scrap of Starbuckian scepticism in hope that somehow they could reach Ama. He glanced at the sisters, noticing they had both closed their eyes. Perhaps it allowed them to focus more intently on their godmother, but in a cave that was recently inhabited by Count Iblis, he reasoned one of them had better keep his eyes open.

"Starbuck, _focus_."

"Right."

He gazed down at the silver metal, trying to picture Ama with her wild, perpetually wind-blown hair—an anomaly on board a space ship—and her gapped-tooth smile. Lords, so much had happened since he had met her on her home planet of Empyrean, and she had drunk him under the table . . . It never would have occurred to him that he would come to love the crusty old woman that had done her best to infiltrate his life and his affections so thoroughly. The tingling in his fingers seemed to grow stronger, to creep up his limbs, and he shivered as a sudden coldness began to seep into his bones.

"That's _it_ . . ." Lia murmured.

A flicker of light sparked to life, and a gauzy luminescent tendril rose up from the silver metal. Starbuck drew in a breath, crinkling his nose at the sudden odour that seemed to linger in the air. Mesmerized, he watched as the wispy trail of light spiralled upward, in an increasingly wider path. He could feel his heart beat accelerate in anticipation of what would happen next.

Then he startled as his clothes suddenly turned white, and a familiar voice told him, "I really don't think this is an especially clever idea."

----------

Apollo couldn't help but grin, shaking his head, as Prince Llewelyn leaned over the back of the seat behind him, chuckling merrily as the shuttle neared Mt. Cadoc. With Prince Glynn on the mend, he had managed to convince Llewelyn, Mouric, and Eirys to "just try out" their shuttlecraft, rather than to use the Oculus to get back up to Mt. Cadoc. It had been relatively easy once Eirys had mentioned that Iblis was possibly, indeed probably, able to detect any use of the Oculus, and that it could potentially, if unintentionally act as a warning to the evil Being. Meanwhile, a clearly suffering Ryan had agreed to remain behind with Cassie, continuing to lend a hand, field dressing the recovering Angylion army, and to help keep an eye on Boxey. Behind Apollo, Llewelyn let out a spontaneous whoop as they banked to the left. Any moment now . . .

"It looks almost childlike in its simplicity, Colonel Apollo. May I try?" the prince asked hopefully.

"It's much more complicated than it appears at first sight, Prince Llewelyn," Apollo returned. "It takes long training and expertise to pilot any spacecraft."

The prince sighed. "A shame. It looks . . .fun."

"Apollo," Sheba interrupted. "I'm picking up a Raider on the summit. One of ours." Then she smiled wryly. "I should have known. It's Phoenix One."

"What the . . .?" Apollo murmured, glancing at Sheba. The last he knew, Phoenix One had been heading for the _Endeavour_ carrying Dayton, Starbuck, Coxcoxtli, Lia and Luana. "Looking for Ama?"

"That's my guess," Sheba nodded. "There are no more Cylons down here to worry about."

"See if you can raise them," Apollo suggested, pausing as Sheba tried to establish communications with the other craft.

"Negative. No response." She nodded as she studied the console. "I'm reading three human life forms in the cavern, Apollo."

"Three?" Apollo returned with a sigh.

"I'm guessing, Luana, Lia, and . . .?" Sheba replied, then paused to consider the absurd.

Apollo nodded. "Starbuck."

----------

Baltar dived for his weapon, as criss-crossing laser fire blasted through the Control Centre. Heat licked at his face, before he hit the deck and wrapped his fist around his weapon. He hurled himself onto his back under the console and quickly studied the room. A centurion was taking aim at Porter . . .

He fired.

In a burst of sparks and smoke, the centurion staggered and then fell. Baltar grinned, pausing only a micron to revel in his triumph before . . .

"Baltar, _move_! NOW!" An Earthman.

He lurched to the right, once again feeling the hot lick of a near miss as he scurried from beneath the console, and then dived over it to use it as cover. For a moment, he pressed himself against the cold metal, trying to gauge how the skirmish was unfolding from the din. There was a yell of pain, and instinctively, Baltar jumped up, hesitating only the brief micron it took to discern ally from enemy, before firing once again. There was no time to gloat, as he leapt forward, wrapping a supportive arm around a downed Baker, and hauling him to his feet as Porter joined him on the other side, laying down cover fire.

"Get to Malus!" Porter roared, firing a pulse rifle and blowing a centurion off its feet.

"He's down!" Baltar yelled back, seeing the IL lying in a heap.

"I know!" Porter hollered back, this time firing his weapon at a centurion entering from the hatchway, blowing it to Hades hole. "Do it!"

The options weren't looking good. Baker had been hit in the leg, the Cylon "costume" acting both as body armour and a old-fashioned oven as it cooked his leg wound to the limits of the Earthman's endurance. His face was twisted in a rictus of agony, and sweat was pouring off his face as he hung on to Baltar, grunting with each motion as he was half-dragged to Malus. Around them, Cylon pulse-rifles were coming to bear on them, more centurions pouring through the hatch on either side. They were outgunned, outnumbered, and apparently out of luck.

"Humans, you are surrounded. Surrender your weapons and submit," Mendax ordered them from where he had taken shelter behind a console.

"Just like Butch and Sundance . . ." Baker hissed from between clenched teeth.

"Yeah. For a moment there . . . I thought we were in trouble," Porter muttered, looking around at the array of weapons pointed at them.

"If you start singing . . . _Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head_. . . I'll shoot you," Baker grunted, dropping down almost on top of the IL and stretching his injured leg out in front of him. He sucked in several breaths through his teeth, supporting the leg with his hands as he visually checked out the IL. The front of Malus' chest plate was blackened, but otherwise showed little damage. His lights were conspicuously unlit. "Mal?" he rasped, knocking on his chest plate. "You in there?"

"I said, _drop your weapons_!" Mendax repeated, as centurions closed in on them.

"I hate to quibble, but you actually told us to _surrender _them," Porter rejoined, dropping to his knees by the IL and looking across at his old friend. "Make up your toaster-oven mind! Is he . . .?"

Baker nodded sadly, glancing up at Baltar. "Are you a religious man, Baltar?"

It was so totally bizarre and unexpected that in this situation Baltar could only do one thing: play along. "My path has strayed in recent yahrens, but I believe I am on that course again."

"Then kneel and pray with us, brother," Portex nodded. "For Malus' soul. That we may ease his transition up into that big trash compactor in the sky."

"His soul?" Baltar returned, his weapon hanging loosely from his fingertips as he kneeled beside them. "Cylons don't have souls."

"Malus did . . . or at least he _believed_ that he did," Porter returned, patting Malus lightly on the shoulder. "Didn't you, _Firefly_?" He bowed his head, leaning low over the IL.

"Centurion, communications are down. However you do it, order all squadrons to launch," Mendax ordered, angrily slapping switches on the console. A stray shot had drilled it, sending bits flying. "Have five Raiders return to Morlais and destroy every sign of Angylion civilization they can detect. Have the remaining fighters launch on the _Harrower_, their assignment: ram her."

"Fuel-is-low-in-all-Raiders."

"I know that, Centurion," Mendax replied, picking up a pulse rifle and turning to take aim at the humans. "This ship will likely explode in the next thirty centons, no matter what we do to try and prevent that. I plan on sending every last humanoid in the vicinity to their deaths before that happens. Starting with these three."

"By-your-command."

Baltar winced, his back stiffening as he waited for a laser blast to cut him down. His hand twitched around his weapon.

"Hail Mary, full of grace," Porter intoned in English, leaning closer as two red eyes lit up, and twinkling lights in Malus' head flittered to life. Baker groaned breathlessly as he shifted, adding his bulk as a barrier to the IL's sudden revival. "The Lord is with Thee."

"Your barbaric prayers will not protect you, humans," Mendax sneered. "The orders of Imperious Leader will be carried out! You will all die! Centurions! Take aim."

Baltar tightened his grip on his weapon, ready to turn and defend himself. He wouldn't take a laser in the back while on his knees listening to prayers in a foreign tongue to someone else's god. Then Porter's arm shot out, grabbing his weapon and stilling him. The man's features blazed a silent message of warning as his fingers furiously probed Malus searchingly. But for what?

"Blessed art Thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of Thy womb, our Lord, Jesus Christ," Porter continued, at a frenzied pace. The IL's right hand methodically pushed Porter's aside, and a hidden panel abruptly popped open. Under the cover of the 'praying' men, Malus reached inside. "Oh Virgin Saint Mary, Oh Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at all times, and at the hour of our death. Amen and _energize_."

"Fire!"

----------

One moment Starbuck was concentrating on Ama. The next, someone was speaking into his ear, as his uniform turned a shocking shade of white. He jumped back from Lu and Lia, breaking the circle of their triune, as he whirled to see John of the Ship of Lights standing there.

"J . . . John?"

"Hello, Starbuck," replied the celestial Being. "I . . ."

"Where the frack have you been?" Starbuck shouted. A culmination of frustration, anxiety, exhaustion and the fact that this really wasn't his best day, he hurled the words at the ethereal Being accusingly.

"Starbuck, what is it? What's wrong?" Lu asked in surprise, reaching out towards her husband as the wispy trail of light disappeared, all traces of the otherworldly with it.

John smiled in apparent amusement, glancing at the Empyrean sisters. "I've been close by. Watching. Up until now you seem to have had things well in hand. But this," John gesticulated towards the women, "this is only going to get you into trouble."

"_Trouble_?" Starbuck echoed in disbelief. "Really? Trouble? Ya think?" he shouted, unconsciously aping one of Dayton's Earthisms. "I've got news for you, pal, we've been in a dimension of trouble since we got here. What _is _it with your people? How much felgercarb do we need to go through before you step in and do something about it? How many people have to die? How many get . . ."

"_Starbuck_?" Lu forcibly turned him around, grabbing his arms, gazing intently into his eyes. "What the frack is going on? _Who_ are you talking to?"

He sighed, shaking his head slightly as his wife's eyes ran over him speculatively. This was it. She thought he had lost what was left of his sanity. "The little green people that came out of Ama's talisman when we started thinking about her."

Lu's eyes opened wide in shock, then narrowed suspiciously as he pulled away.

"They can't see me, you know," John reminded Starbuck.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Starbuck returned sarcastically, raising his hands self-defensively as Lu took another step towards him. "So making me appear to be crazy is somehow beneficial to this entire situation, huh? Apollo told me that you pulled this with him on Terra."

"You could be a little more respectful . . ." John mentioned.

"And _you_ could be a little more _helpful_!" Starbuck snapped.

"Starbuck . . .?" Lia murmured, at a loss for words as he ranted into thin air.

"We cannot interfere. I already explained . . ." John began.

"You guys have this weird set of rules that I just don't understand, yet you expect us to go along with them." He pointed a finger at John, squeezing his hand into a fist when he noticed the slight tremble in it. "The way I see it, the day that Count Iblis showed up and 'killed' Prince Glynn and Llewelyn, and then started turning Angylions into Odreds would have been the time to show up. The same day the Cylons landed and started slaughtering and enslaving them! _Not_ tenyahrens later! We wouldn't have even been involved!"

"There _is_ a plan to the universe, Starbuck," John returned. "A predetermined course of events that must unfold."

"Felgercarb!" Starbuck returned heatedly. He'd never bought into that particular concept. The only one navigating his ship through life, was _him_.

"You think we make it all up as we go along?" John smiled gently.

"Now that you mention it, the way it's been _unfolding_, I'm betting on 'yes'," Starbuck returned, pausing as Lu and Lia advanced on him cautiously, compassion and concern etched into their features. "Oh, for Sagan's sake . . . I _really_ hate this." He glared at John in annoyance.

"You're not the only one," replied John quietly, casting a glance upwards.

"Starbuck, tell me what's happening? What's going on?" Lu asked, her bewilderment plain.

Starbuck glanced at the whiteness of his tattered uniform, taking a moment to reflect that he might have taken the time to change it before continuing on this merry journey into the unknown. However, if it looked white to _him_ . . . "What colour is my uniform?"

"What _colour_ . . .?" Lu let out a short breath, placing her hands on her slender hips. "Are you messing with us?"

"It could be some residual effect of the brain probe," Lia pointed out pragmatically. "We should probably do our best to reorient him. Starbuck, your uniform is regulation beige. A dirty, bloody beige, but it's beige. Now about the 'little green men' . . ."

"Don't worry about them, they're exploding in tune to * _Caprica the Brave_, and at this rate will be long gone before I go into therapy," Starbuck rejoined. He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, and glancing at John. "Having fun?" he asked caustically.

"It really isn't _necessary_ that they see me," John shrugged. "I simply came to . . ."

Starbuck lurched towards the ethereal Being, his hand reaching out to grab him by the shirt and shake him into next secton . . . and his hand passed innocuously through the other. "_Frack_!" he cursed. In his instinctive desire to throttle John, he'd forgotten that the image he saw wasn't actually realized in any _physical _form.

"_Really_," John murmured haughtily.

"_Where_ is Ama?" Starbuck snarled, his fists curled at his sides as it suddenly dawned on him . . . "Did _you_ drag her into this?"

"Well," John sighed, with a glance upward. "Sort of."

----------

"That's it. Ya got it, kid! Good job, Boxster," Ryan murmured, watching the boy tie the bandage, securing it around the burly Angylion arm as he'd been shown. Those bright brown eyes looked up at him and smiled, pleased that the adult had noticed. "Better go get us some more bandages. We're almost out."

"Okay, Padster!" Boxey smiled, as he jumped to his feet, heading for the nearest supply tent.

Ryan chuckled, at the boy's new nickname for him as he watched him disappear inside the tent. _Boxster and Padster, medics extraordinaire_. Well, at least for the small stuff. Anything truly disgusting, of which there was plenty, he sent Cassie's way as he steadfastly avoided the frontline that was littered with Angylion dead.

It had been a scene-and-a-half when Apollo had explained to Boxey that he would be leaving him behind, while he went on to Mt. Cadoc to "look for Councilwoman Ama". Ryan had quickly intervened, feeling a little sorry for the young colonel, and had volunteered to take the boy "under his wing" and "show him the ropes". As usual, the confusing phraseology was enough to dispel the mood as father and son both looked at him in confusion while he babbled on about needing some help "where the rubber meets the road", since he was still on the wounded list himself.

"Come on down!" Ryan glanced at his next patient, the Angylion's muscular right arm badly burnt from shoulder to below the elbow, and his left oozing blood from a nasty gash. "You're the next contestant on _This Slice Ain't Nice_." Dubiously, the warrior sat down, as Ryan reached into the med kit, realizing that regular bandages weren't all he was low on. He needed more burn dressings, impregnated with something that had to be the Colonial equivalent of silver back home. "Hold tight, Conan. _I'll be back_," he said in his best Schwarzenegger impersonation.  
The man nodded at him, not looking particularly upset at the delay as Ryan made his way to the supply tent. Fortunately, he'd taken care of enough Angylions by now that they knew he was more than competent, despite his unusual demeanour. He paused for a moment, hearing the low growl of the daggit from within the tent, and then looked inside.

"Come with me, Boxey. _I _would never leave you behind, as your father does. I can give you whatever your heart desires . . . a real daggit . . . your mother . . ."

Sticking out like a sore thumb, the man was dressed from head to toe in white, a fancy cape completing the ensemble. He held a hand out to the hesitant looking child, as the boy paused in indecision. Boxey had a glassy-eyed look to him, as though he was under the influence of something more potent than alcohol or some weird-ass spell. Briefly, Ryan wondered if the kid had gotten into the drugs they had been using. Whatever it was _had_ to be affecting the child's judgment. The daggit separated the two figures, growling menacingly. Or at least _trying_ to. The boy took a step forward, his hand reaching out . . .

"What do we have here?" Ryan interrupted, striding into the tent. The man turned, and Ryan had his first really good look. It was a distinguished face that he recognized from the _IFB_ archives, and now associated with at least a half dozen tales he'd heard from Dayton, Starbuck, Apollo and even Commander Adama. A chill went down his spine when he realized just who it was he was suddenly up against, but it quickly settled into a burning fury since this piece of crap was after a little kid, no doubt to use against Apollo. The irony didn't escape him that Apollo and team had just left for Mt. Cadoc looking for this lowlife. "You look like you've been shopping at Liberace's Bargain Basement, Beelze-_Bub_. Don't you know you're not supposed to wear white after Labour Day? And you're not exactly in fashion for the battlefield either this season, unless you're going to give me your pretty frock to tear into bandages." He took another pace forward, standing beside the daggit, wishing it looked more like the Terminator than a patchy fur ball a la R2-D2.

"Stand aside or forfeit your life," Iblis warned him, sounding strangely polite although there was nothing remotely pleasant in his current demeanour. His eyes burned with pure, bone-chilling badness. He was pissed, plain and simple.

"Nah, don't think so." Ryan crossed his arms over his chest. "Some old friends of yours recently passed this way. You may remember them, Ibster. Bright lights going way too fast for the eye to follow. Making this weird whine . . . sound at all familiar?"

Iblis narrowed his eyes, his face flushing in anger.

"Ooh, hit a sore spot, eh? I thought that might ring a bell or two with you," Ryan nodded. "Now admittedly, I'm no expert, since us atheists generally think that guys like you were dreamed up by the Church to make worshippers show up every Sunday . . . but even I can see that when the gene pool was handing out DNA, you were hit with the Mean and Nasty Stick upside the head—or maybe the _other_ end—and then beaten with it until you were downright despicable."

"You _dare _. . ." Iblis snarled, raising a hand, his eyes beginning to bulge. Iblis moved to strike, pausing as a faint whine grew louder and more intense. He looked upward, his anxiety plain.

"Yeah, _I_ dare, Iblis. Damn right, I dare. You come here after some innocent child trying to get the upper hand on Apollo . . ." The whining pitch was louder now. Above them those white lights had to be back. Ryan looked down, as a small hand slipped into his own. He squeezed it reassuringly, keeping his tone of voice deliberately calm. "You're so low that you need a stepladder to see eye to eye with a scorpion. No, I take that back. Even scorpions have standards. More like the backside of a cockroach."

"Don't fool with me, mortal. I am your worst nightmare."

"You never met the mother-in-law," Ryan quipped nonchalantly.

Iblis raised a hand, pointing a finger that shook in fury. "You and I _will_ meet again," he promised.

"I'll bet you say that to all the girls . . ." Ryan retorted as the Being called Count Iblis disappeared before his eyes.

"Padster?" Boxey whispered.

Ryan looked down at the boy. Although Iblis had once tried to situate himself in Colonial society, he reckoned that little kids didn't much follow politics, and Boxey possibly didn't even remember the Being that had once tried to usurp control of the Fleet. The kid looked overwhelmed, confused, afraid . . . and he knew just how Boxey felt. He knelt down on one knee, wishing he had brought along a hypospray to dose himself with an analgesic once again. Or a flask. Or hey, why not both? "Yeah, Boxster?"

"Could he really bring back my mother?"

Ryan slowly shook his head. "No, son. He lied to you." Boxey bowed his head, but Ryan knew that he had just destroyed the child's meagre hope. As difficult a decision as that was, it _had_ to be done. The kid could not go on, living on illusions, wondering what _might _have been. "But your mother lives on in you, Boxster. There's a very big piece of her in here," he tapped the child on his chest, "and that will be with you for the rest of your life. Understand?"

Boxey nodded shortly, before raising his liquid brown eyes to the Earthman. "Then why did he tell me . . .?"

"Boxster, there are some people in the world—make that _universe_—who will do or say _anything_ to get their way. Iblis is one of them. He's different than you and I. He doesn't have a code of honour or ethics. Now, I'm no expert, but as far as I can see that guy lives, eats, and breaths lies. His whole existence is founded on nothing but lies, and the misery he causes with them. Don't ever believe a word that refugee from a turbo-flush tells you."

"Will he be back?" the boy asked fearfully, looking for a moment at the space Iblis had occupied a moment before.

"Not if your father has anything to say about it, he won't. Okay?" The boy nodded. He looked a little more confident. It was time to lighten the mood, and Ryan had just the thing. "Okay, now pull my finger . . . I want to teach you something." He grinned, as the boy looked at the proffered finger suspiciously. "Your grandfather is going to love this."

---------

Theoretically, Dayton knew that the Clavis had safely delivered the _Endeavour_ from their dimension into this one, but still he was holding his breath as he waited for the alien "transporter" to bring his men home. After all, he wasn't sure what kind of shape they'd be in. Seconds after they had located the three human life forms on bio-scan, Coxcoxtli picked up the signal they had been waiting for. With the flick of some switches and the turn of a dial, the corporal told him he was ready. Dayton even got to say it . . .

"_Energize_."

Now he slowly let that breath out, as shimmering sparkles of light gradually took the form of three men and a Cylon. Particles of energy reconverting back into matter, it was _so_ _Star Trek_! Then he realized that Baltar looked as though he was about to have a fit, and Baker was slumped over Malus. He darted forward, even as Porter gently laid his friend down on the deck.

"Leg wound! We need a medic!" Porter reported.

"Life Station! Get a med tech up here!" Dorado barked into the comm, then paused a moment to listen to the muted reply. "No! Not the psychologist! We'll take the healer!"

"By the Lords of Kobol . . ." Baltar exclaimed, looking around in amazement at the _Endeavour_ Control Centre. "How did we . . .? I thought we were going to . . ."

"What happened?" Dayton asked, kneeling down.

"Firefight in the Control Centre," Porter replied. "Mendax had every intention of killing all of us, starting with Malus."

Dayton quickly took in the charred torso on the IL as Malus began to climb to his feet. "He seems no worse for wear."

"While on Planet 'P', I formulated a condensed tylinium coating to treat Cylon body armour, Commander. It is resistant to all light plasma weapons that I am familiar with," Malus informed him. "Those of Mendax and his crew are deca-yahrens out of date, as well."

"Horridum. The gold centurion with Cylon Psychosis," Dayton nodded, remembering how the thing had gone after Apollo on Planet 'P', intent on killing him. "No internal damage?"

"One minor circuit overload, which has caused my operating system to switch over to my back-up EMA. Otherwise, I am unharmed, Commander."

"Couldn't have painted some on my costume . . . before we left . . .Mal?" Baker grunted, sweat pouring from his brow as he clenched his leg in agony.

"I'm afraid it is not something I have had the occasion to use since joining the _Endeavour_," Malus explained. "Perhaps additional research . . ."

"Help me get the bloody armour off . . . feels like I'm being barbequed alive," Baker panted, as Porter and Dayton worked together to ease off the lower Cylon assembly.

"Cylon Raiders launching from the _Harbinger_!" Sagaris reported.

"Strength?" asked Dayton.

"Twenty-four so far, Commander. Scanner reads they have locked on to us, and all weapons are armed."

"Mendax ordered five Raiders to destroy what remains of Morlais. The remainder are assigned to ram the _Endeavour_," Baltar hastily inserted.

"Kamikaze runs, Mark," Porter nodded. "Mendax knows his ship is doomed. He plans on taking us all with him."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Dayton retorted, as Rhiamon the Empyrean healer tore through the hatch, quickly heading for her patient. "We'll see about that!"

"Oh, _man_! This is the one that scares Starbuck!" Baker moaned as the healer ran a biomonitor over him.

"I need him in the Life Station for fluid resuscitation!" Rhiamon snapped, issuing orders like a drill sergeant. "Now!"

"Okay, our birds are already out there. Send three Hybrids to take care of the Raiders that veer off towards Morlais," Dayton ordered, as he helped Porter ease their friend onto a hoverstretcher. "The rest are to intercept and destroy those coming our way, and I'm guessing they're going to be outnumbered."

"Yes, sir," Dorado replied, relaying the orders.

"On my command, bring the _Endeavour _about Theta Eight Mark Six," Dayton continued as Porter disappeared through the hatch with their friend. Baltar hovered uncertainly, obviously uncomfortable under Dayton's cool stare. "Once those Cylons have committed to a course and are engaging our fighters, we'll cut a wide path around them, and they won't have the fuel to catch up."

"Mendax will be disappointed, Commander," Malus mentioned.

"I'm counting on it," Dayton replied, nodding briefly at the IL. "Way to bring them home, Mal. If you didn't smell like burnt metal and machine oil, I'd kiss you."

"Thank you, Commander."

"Okay, it's open season on Cylons, and I've got my hunting license. Let's go bag ourselves a Base Ship," Dayton grinned.

---------

"_Sort of_? You _sort of_ dragged Ama into this?" Starbuck snarled, taking an angry step towards John. The celestial Being actually took a small step backwards, and then looked embarrassed about it. "How does a backwoods Empyrean woman _sort of_ end up part way across our galaxy and into another dimension duelling with Diabolis? You're holding out on me here, John! Like _that's_ anything new! What the _frack_ is going on?"

John winced, possibly at his choice of colourful language.

"_Starbuck _. . ." Lu was pleading with him, tears welling in her eyes as she watched him. Aggression poured off him as he raved at what appeared to be thin air.

"Lu . . ." he groaned, caught between wanting to pulverize John and reassuring her. His anger wasn't doing much to ameliorate the situation, and he forced himself to calm down and realize how a one-sided conversation would look to her. "Remember I told you about the Ship of Lights and John?"

She nodded hesitantly, looking over to where Starbuck had been directing his anger. "Then that's . . .?"

"I hear something . . ." Lia murmured, touching her sister's shoulder.

Lu turned, glancing at her sister as though she'd just lost her mind. "_What?_"

"Shh!" Lia replied, turning towards the mouth of the cave. They could hear footsteps drawing nearer.

"_Lia_? _Luana_?"

"Apollo?" Lia called back.

"Yeah!"

A moment later the gentle glow of illuminators turned into bright beacons of light as they turned down the tunnel. Apollo, Sheba, Eirys, Llewelyn and Mouric fanned out around them.

"Any sign of Ama?" Sheba asked.

"Sagan's sake . . ." Starbuck gasped, as he stared at Mouric in disbelief. For a moment, he actually forgot about John. "_Zac_?"

"Mouric," the dark-haired Angylion replied with a look of bemusement, turning to Llewelyn. "What is this madness? _Another_ Doublewalker?"

"Soon we'll have a complete set," Llewelyn returned dryly, clapping the other on the shoulder.

"Bucko, what are you _doing_ here?" Apollo crossed to his friend, looking him over.

"Losing what's left of my mind, actually," Starbuck returned, almost surprised by Apollo's obvious concern. He'd been expecting a dressing down for joining this expedition. "John's here. And if _you_ don't believe me, I'm going to do something drastic."

"Like going on a mission when you should be in the Life Station?" Apollo countered.

"Well . . ." Starbuck shrugged, not having a suitable comeback. "I think you missed the point, buddy. Have you been sniffing fuel vapours, or something? _John's here_."

"John?" Sheba echoed in surprise. "From the Ship of Lights?" She looked around.

Mouric laughed aloud. "By Llyr, they are just like you and Glynn, Llewelyn. If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes . . ."

Llewelyn smiled, nodding, as his own glance settled on Luana. He strode forward. "Such a vision of loveliness . . . ah, a beauty such as yours, my lady, could light up the bleakest night in Morlais. Pray tell, what is your name?"

"Luana," she murmured, running a hand over her neck as a delicate flush spread over her skin.

"John?" Apollo looked around searchingly, his gaze settling back on his friend. "Really?"

"Hey, pal, that's my wife you're ogling!" Starbuck stepped forward, putting a hand on Llewelyn's shoulder, and forcibly turning the prince towards him. On contact, a jolt shot through him, and his eyes opened wide as Llewelyn gaped back at him in surprise. Starbuck's skin crawled, as an icy shiver ran down his spine while a foul odour filled his senses. Everything around them seemed to shimmer and shift, and he felt the pull of some explicable energy. "Oh, _frack_ . . ."

"_Don't . . .!_" Eirys shouted, leaping forward to separate them. "_Not yet_! _Not without the Oculus_!"

But it was already too late.

---------

*_Caprica the Brave_ borrowed with permission from Seanchaidh.


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Holy . . .what in Hades hole just happened?" Apollo gasped as he stared at the empty spot where Starbuck and Llewelyn had just been standing. The plan was that they were all going to use the Oculus to find Ama and face down Count Iblis together, but then with a touch of Starbuck's hand on his Doublewalker, everything had changed.

"Where did they go?" Luana exclaimed, a note of desperation in her tone. She whirled on her sister who looked back at her blankly, and then glanced down at Ama's talisman in complete astonishment as though weighing whether the mystical piece had anything to do with the situation.

"Triquetra's Truss . . ." Lia murmured.

"Eirys?" Mouric asked.

The Angylion sorceress looked stunned, as she stood there holding the Oculus in wonder. "I didn't _do_ anything . . ." She brushed back her flowing flaxen hair distractedly, before silently adding, _at least not knowingly! _"I didn't know that could happen . . . I'm not certain what _did_ happen . . ."

"They disappeared," Mouric told her helpfully.

"I know that, Mouric!" she snapped in exasperation. "But when they touched before in the Holy Sanctum . . ." she shook her head, searching for answers.

"Llewelyn came back from the dead. As did Glynn," Apollo finished for her.

"Energy moving across realms . . ." Eirys mused, lifting the Oculus into the air and studying it. "Giving life . . . shifting realities . . ." She swallowed convulsively. "Have you touched Glynn since then, Apollo?"

"Uh . . . well . . ._no_," he replied, and then shrugged. Meeting a man that not only looked like him, but was also extremely similar in character was a little unsettling, especially knowing he'd been lying "clinically dead" in a chamber for ten yahrens. Apollo was a demonstrative man, but even so, he felt more of discomfiture with Glynn than an inclination towards _touching_ him. "At least not that I can recall."

"So you're saying that just the two of them touching . . ." Sheba began, then frowned, shaking her head. "I don't understand. How is that possible?"

"None of this falls within our standard definition of 'possible', Sheba", Apollo replied.

"Two kindred spirits uniting, disturbing the Infinite, transcending time and space . . ." Eirys contemplated.

"But where did they _go_?" Luana asked.

"And was it under their own power . . . or did Count Iblis take them there?" Sheba added gravely. She felt a cold chill, as an image of the evil Count's face just as he struck down Apollo flitted across her memory.

"I think we need a little help," Apollo ventured, looking around. "John, if you're here, I think it's time you let us know what's going on."

Sheba nodded her agreement, standing beside him.

A micron later, John materialized before them. A glance at the others revealed blinding white clothes that meant the celestial Being was permitting them to see him. He nodded politely at them, but was frowning.

"John?" asked Apollo.

"Very well," sighed the ethereal Being. "It's like this . . ."

---------

"Here they come!" Jolly winced at the wall of Cylon Raiders coming at them. The commander was right, they had to be outnumbered by at least two to one, which just wasn't fair. However, when it came to the Cylons, it was typical. He glanced at his scanner.

"There's so many of them, Lieutenant!" one cadet cried tremulously.

"Makes hitting them even easier, Acastus," Giles spoke up. "Right, Jolly?"

"Right, Giles. Wingmen, stick tight to your leaders. And remember, this particular group of Cylon pilots have been planetside for ten yahrens and they're a little . . . _rusty_." He smiled at the nervous titter of laughter over the comm. "Also, their scanning and avionic systems are close to a century out of date, compared to ours. Our ships have the latest in electronic counter measures. Make the most of it."

"Understood, sir," replied Acastus.

"Jolly, Baltar's report was correct. Three Raiders are veering off towards Morlais," Dietra suddenly inserted. "Permission to pursue?"

"Granted, Lieutenant. They're all yours."

"Isador?" Dietra called.

"On your wing, Lieutenant," he replied.

"Alright, Cadets, let's go."

---------

"Commander, coming about," Dorado told him, as they corrected course once again, this time veering back towards the _Abaddon_ Base Ship. "Matching speed with enemy vessel."

"As soon as we're in range, lock on forward ph . . ." Dayton gave his head a shake as he realized he'd been about to say _photons_. There'd been way too many Star Trek influences lately. _"Lock on forward __lasers!"_

The planned Cylon Raider suicide runs had failed utterly, not even getting near the _Endeavour_ as Dayton had the Covert Operations Ship engage her engines and move out of range, too rapidly and erratically for the small fighter craft to follow. Phoenix and Sphinx Squadrons were engaging in combat with the Cylon forces, while a small patrol pursued the planet-bound Raiders down to Morlais.

"If Lieutenant Dietra doesn't reach those Raiders in time, they _will_ destroy the Holy Sanctum on Mount Cadoc and what remains of the Angylions," Baltar inserted, stepping forward abruptly, as though he had made a sudden decision.

"I'm aware of that, Baltar," Dayton returned, not even looking at the former traitor as his eyes followed the progression of the fighters on the scanner. Starbuck, Lia, Luana, Ama . . . maybe Ryan, Cassiopeia, Apollo and Sheba too. He had no intention of letting that happen. "What will be their first target? Your military assessment, quickly! The Angylions on the battlefield, or our people on Mt. Cadoc?"

"_Our _people at the Holy Sanctum," Baltar replied, not missing Dayton's appraising stare. Having fought for his life alongside the others, as far as he was concerned he'd _earned_ the right to include himself as one of them. At least in _this _dimension. Dayton could go straight to Hades Hole if he thought otherwise. "The Angylions aren't going anywhere, and Mendax will follow out the Edict of Extermination to the best of his ability, especially after we made a fool of him in front of his crew. Unless, of course, they split up. One Raider heading for Mt. Cadoc, and the other two for the battlefield. The Raiders not only have a considerable lead on our fighters, but they're lighter."

"Low on tylium," Dayton nodded, immediately following the former Cylon commander's reasoning. "They probably have just enough to complete their mission and no more. A one-way mission." He glanced at the IL who quietly nodded his agreement. It was the first time in Dayton's life he'd gone to a traitor and a high-end robot for tactical analysis.

"Yes, Mendax admitted his tylium stores were close to depleted. However, if our fighters _dump_ fuel . . ." Baltar offered, raising his eyebrows as he let Dayton consider it.

"With our modified engines, we'll be more likely to catch up to them before they penetrate the atmosphere," Dayton nodded, watching a Cylon blip disappear from the main battle, and a few seconds later, two Hybrid fighters lose their identity beacons. He internally groaned, realizing he'd just lost two cadets in the blink of an eye. Agon and Lule. Good kids with such potential . . . Then his guts twisted as he realized the possible connotation. "What are the chances that the Cylons packed those ships with explosives?"

"Exceptionally high. It doesn't take much solenite to blow the top off of a mountain, Commander Dayton," Baltar replied. Privately, he recalled the Cylons losing the Ravishol pulsar, and the top blowing off Mount Hecla on Arcta.

"Or to take out two of our fighters with every one of theirs," Dayton nodded, and then looked to Dorado. "Tell Dietra to dump half her fuel and haul ass for those Raiders. Make sure Phoenix and Sphinx spread out. I have a feeling every Cylon fighter out there is packed to the gills with solenite."

"Yes, sir," Dorado replied. "Coming into range. Forward lasers are locked onto the _Harbinger_, Commander. "

"Give me a firing solution for the _Harbinger__,"_said Dayton. He watched as the ship's computer crunched the numbers, giving results for both laser batteries and missiles.

"Firing solution ready and on the board," said Dorado. "All lasers report ready, missiles on standby."

"Excellent. Lasers first. I'm saving the missiles for a special occasion. And give me a countdown, too, Captain. Us old astronauts are fond of them," Dayton quipped, his eyes narrowing as he lost any desire he initially had for toying with the enemy, like a cat would a mouse. He wanted these scumbags gone. Blown out of existence.

"Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one . . ."

"Fire!" Dayton ordered.  
---------

Eternal darkness. A foul mustiness. A deadly, bitter cold. An undeniable force that he couldn't explain, much less understand, it loomed ominously and seemingly omnipresent. Starbuck couldn't help the involuntary shiver that suddenly took control of him, lying on the unforgiving ground, as he tried to catch his breath and calm his rising panic. Dread seeped into him, infiltrating his defences as it tormented his mind. The only other sound he could clearly make out was equally laboured breathing coming from about a metron away; he could only assume it was Llewelyn's.

Much like in his dream he had been pulled forcibly into some kind of vortex, only this time his Doublewalker was with him. All he had done was touch Llewelyn, and it had acted as some kind of catalyst, a key in a lock, propelling them through the same portal that he had been about to take with Lia and Luana when John had intervened. It had been one Hades of a ride, tumbling endlessly over and over, unable to breathe, as his mind rebelled at the idea that this could really be happening. Apparently, he was about to find out what John was trying to prevent.

"Starbuck?" the nearby voice, identical to his own, called out tentatively.

"Yeah," he replied, pushing his upper body up from the ground, yet pausing to curl his fingers around the solidness of the dirt. It felt like gritty crystals, and he let it filter through his fingers, the texture feeling somehow comforting. As far as he could tell, there wasn't the tiniest sign of life or light dwelling here. It scared the mong out of him. All around him was nothingness. A black abyss that seemed to stretch on forever. It was as though they were perched on the top of some unknown world, and if they took a step off, they would plunge straight to Hades Hole . . .

_Where it would probably be a whole lot warmer, Bucko._

"What is this place thou hast brought me to?" Llewelyn asked, his voice sounding small and childlike, swallowed up by the void. "All I did was unwittingly ask thy wife her name. Surely if I offended thee, swords at dawn would have been more befitting the infraction." His tone was light, his diction formal and more characteristic of his older brother, but there was an underlying nervousness that betrayed his bravado. Starbuck recognized it only too well.

He sniffed aloud at the mere idea that he had anything to do with this. "Did you _bring_ your sword?" Starbuck replied with a fleeting smile, slowly climbing to his feet as he touched the hilt of his own blade. Every sense was alive as he listened, watched, and waited for _something_ to leap out of the dark at them. Cautiously, he slung his pack off his back, and then reached inside, optimistically groping around for another illuminator. He'd dropped his somewhere along the way to this place of torment.

"I did, although dawn appears to be a long way off, and it mightn't bode well to take the life of one's own Doublewalker," Llewelyn mused, also regaining his feet.

"Assuming you could," Starbuck countered.

Llewelyn laughed briefly, the harsh sound echoing in the darkness. "I am the ablest blade in all of Morlais, Doublewalker."

"And I have a Colonial laser, pal."

A long moment passed before Llewelyn scoffed, "Such a weapon takes the honour from fighting."

"Yeah? Well, if you'd been armed with lasers instead of swords, Morlais might not have spent the last deca-yahren under Cylon rule."

"Perhaps, a salient point," Llewelyn conceded.

Silence fell between them, as eyes and ears strained for some clue as to where they were, while Starbuck continued to rifle through his pack. Then a tiny spark of light turned into a flame, and Llewelyn moved closer to him, holding a burning match.

"You smoke?" Starbuck asked, taking advantage of the gentle glow. He shouldn't have been surprised. The Cylons had confiscated his own Flintex.

"Am I not civilized?" Llewelyn countered.

Starbuck grinned. "I like your style . . . or at least I _did_ until you started hitting on my wife." His hand curled around another illuminator and he pulled it out, turning it on and shining the light ahead of them. His chest hitched as the mighty beam flowed out into the vast darkness, revealing no more than they could see now. All around them, barrenness. A bleak, vacuous wasteland as far as the eye could see. Not a sign of Ama. Dread began to seep into his bones as Llewelyn gasped in horror beside him. He glanced at the Angylion. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but . . . _what_?"

"The Nonentity," Llewelyn whispered beside him. "It _has_ to be . . ."

"Aptly named," Starbuck returned, even as the familiar taste of fear tingled on his tongue. "But, what exactly _is _the Nonentity?"

"It is the domain of the Mystics. It is said that mortals will wither and die here."

"Probably from hypothermia, if not starvation." Starbuck murmured, turning in a circle and shining the light all around them. "Not very inviting. If I were a Mystic, I'd probably go for something a bit more comfortable. With light and heating. A nice view. Ambrosa. Mushies. Female companionship . . ."

"Do not speak so impiously, Starbuck," Llewelyn cautioned him.

"Or what? We'll get sent to the Nonentity?" he drawled in return.

The other was silent for a moment. "I confess I have forgotten much of what I learned over the years, most of it by choice, but legend says that a man who does not _obey_ Mystic Law will be banished here for all of eternity."

Starbuck winced. "You're not going to start confessing your sins to me, are you, Llewelyn? Ten to one, I can match them, and probably raise you a deca-yahren of indiscretions that would either make you blush, or give you some good ideas for the future."

"Be this our day of reckoning?" the young prince asked.

"_Here_?" Starbuck returned. "No way, pal. Our culture prefers the comparatively balmy climate of Hades hole for eternal damnation." Then he paused, not liking the direction this discussion was taking. For most of his adult life, he'd managed to avoid such philosophical ruminations, preferring to live life, rather than waste any part of it thinking about death. After all, if there was any actual thinking to do _during_ death, he'd have plenty of time for that then. "We're here to find Ama. That's it."

"How do we find her?" Llewelyn asked. "I see no sign of her."

"I was kind of hoping that if she was engineering all this, that she would bring us to her," Starbuck admitted. That was the way it had happened in the dream.

"And if she isn't?"

Eirys couldn't have done this, since if she did she would be standing there beside them with the Oculus. There was really only one other possible explanation. _ Iblis. _ "Then we could be in trouble."

---------

The _Harrower_'s lasers screamed across the vast expanse between the capital ships, slamming into the _Harbinger_, leaving her shuddering like a tortured beast in its death throes. Lights faded and died along with every control panel and display screen, as Dayton's salvos struck home, smoke belching into the Control Centre. Warning lights flashed and alarms blared. For a moment, Mendax thought the fusion reactors had been breached, and it would only be another micron before his ship exploded into stardust. Then the lights surged to life once again as auxiliary power kicked in.

"All laser banks lock on! Return fire!" Mendax ordered, as his crew responded. Their attack computer had miscalculated, and he realized it was likely due to Malus' tampering with his centralized computer systems. He'd been sabotaged. Again. With a glance at the scanner he could see the enemy fighters slowly closing the gap on his solenite-filled Raiders that were bound for the planet. A quick calculation told him that they'd never break through the ionosphere. The Colonials had easily overcome his strategy, as though they knew what he had planned.

He decided it must be Malus' fault, as the ship rocked again from a direct hit. No mere . . . _human_ could have outthought him thus! He was a Cylon!

The outcome was inevitable if he carried out this battle in a traditional tact, considering the state of his ship as compared to Malus'. The _Harrower_ would destroy him with little trouble. He needed to try something a little different. He needed a diversion. He was going to make every effort to make a lasting impression on these filthy, rancid humanoids, fulfilling his duty both to the Cylon race, _and_ the Imperious Leader. "Prepare to fire a missile!"

"By-your-command."

He'd give Malus and the Colonials something to occupy them. If he knew anything about human nature, they'd break off their attack on the _Harbinger_ to try and save their own kind. It was a well-known weakness, and one that he could exploit in this instance. "Target acquisition: Mt. Cadoc. The blast radius will incinerate every life form within a kilometron of ground zero, taking what's left of those Angylion vermin with them."

"By-your-command."

"Fire missile!"

---------

Apollo shook his head in wonder, truly amazed that a piece of Kobolian history had been utterly lost up until now. From what John had said, the Oculus had first appeared sometime before the reign of the first Lord of Kobol, facilitating their motherworld moving from primitive backwardness—the so-called "Age of Darkness"—to the early and curiously rapid dawning of a unified Kobolian civilization. Mud huts and small villages in river valleys had blossomed seemingly overnight into a rich, sophisticated urban culture, with science and the arts making enormous leaps in an historically brief period. It had been passed down from lord to lord, nurturing and ensuring the development of their race. Kobol had flourished, becoming a rich planet, vast in resources, with a peaceable and thriving intellectual culture.

"It was _Kobolian_ in origin?" Sheba clarified. "The Oculus?"

"Uh . . . _no_," John admitted. "Before I delivered the Oculus to Kobol, the planet was in a period of societal chaos. They were typically human, the early Kobolians. Tribes were warring; famine and pestilence were wiping out whole populations. Wanton cruelty, bloodshed and blasphemy were the order of the day. He glanced upward fleetingly. "Our Elders knew that one man on Kobol had the ability, indeed the moral vision, to set his people on the right path, with a little help . . . Salpeter became the first Lord of Kobol."

"We were told the Oculus came from the Nonentity," Eirys nodded. "That its powers were limitless."

"If one _knows_ how to use them," John nodded thoughtfully at the sorceress who had effectively summoned Iblis to Morlais by using the Oculus. "Its abilities can indeed seem boundless." He chose not to challenge her people's perception of what the Nonentity was and who dwelled there. "The Oculus can be the bearer of light or darkness, goodness or evil. It all depends on who commands it."

"Did Count Iblis once command it?" Apollo asked, a coldness gripping him. It was starting to fall into place.

"He did for a short time before the flowering of Kobol," John nodded. "A bit of a challenging case, the Elders decided to make him the Keeper of the Oculus. But unlike any of us who came before him, instead of being inspired by its power, humbled by the honour and glorying in its magnificence, Iblis was filled with pride, and in time was seduced by it. Rather than using the Oculus to help the weak and the primitive develop, to succour the ignorant and the suffering, he instead claimed it as his own, to use for his selfish intentions, satiating his endless greed and lust. The Elders quickly realized their mistake. We found Iblis and recovered it, but not before he had a taste of its power."

"And then you sent it to Kobol?" Apollo asked.

John smiled slightly. "It was decided that it would be safer there. From the dawn of our order, it had been in our own realm. What safer place for it, it was decided, but with a race of primitive humans? One as prideful, pitiless, and self-consumed as Iblis would never think of such a treasure being entrusted to mere mortals. It was long before he even suspected the truth, that it was held by a race destined to be among those who would be guided on a path towards divinity."

"Amongst?" Mouric asked. "Who else was on this path?"

"The Angylions. The Espridians, certainly," John replied. "Others that you have not come across."

"Espridians?" Mouric murmured in confusion.

"A race of Beings that strove towards a global consciousness through spiritual enlightenment. They ascended ever-greater steps towards peace and beauty. They were destroyed by the Cylons." John nodded at Apollo. "That is where the device used to transport the _Endeavour_ to Morlais came from. Your resident Cylon, Malus, will be able to elaborate on their culture. Their annihilation was a grave loss."

Apollo nodded. Dorado had briefed him on the Espridian civilization. The Cylons had been quite thorough.

"Then the Espridians had a device similar to the Kobolians that supported the evolution of their society?" Sheba asked. "Also from you?"

"Very astute, Sheba," John commented. "But actually, no. The Clavis was developed through Espridian science and technology, and its exclusive use is for the physical exploration of the universe. The ability to traverse time and space isn't something we'd share lightly, and at one time was an ability solely attributed to my kind. After all, everything in the universe was designed to be, and must remain, in balance with everything else. Unintentional interference could be disastrous."

"But you allowed it?" Apollo asked.

"We could not interfere, but admittedly, the Espridians merely observed and recorded what they saw. They had an instinctive responsibility for how they used the Clavis, and didn't abuse that privilege." John sighed. "So, it was decided to let them be."

"And now _we_ have it," Sheba murmured, glancing at Apollo in concern.

"Admittedly, for a time, we had all thought it destroyed when the Cylons annihilated the Espridians," John admitted.

"Then we weren't meant to get it?" Apollo asked.

John paused, considering how best to answer. "I believe it is meant to correct an imbalance far, far away that Count Iblis has effected. That is all I can say for now."

"Suitably nebulous," Apollo frowned. "At least you're consistent."

"Why, thank you," John smiled.

"How did the Oculus get from Kobol to Morlais?" Luana asked. "You said that you had brought it here."

"During the reign of the ninth Lord of Kobol, the Oculus was stolen."

"By Iblis?" Apollo asked.

"No, for even he cannot take it unless it is bestowed freely by its Keeper. Its power would be nugatory."

"Then how . . .?"

"As he has so often throughout history. Lies. By lies, seductive blandishments, and false rewards, he manipulated another to do it for him. Humans, sadly, are not so limited by our laws. That diabolical action alone sealed the fate of Kobol, although it had been portended by prophets for yahrens and then verified by science. Kobol's star was dying. It is said that Iblis poisoned the sun, thus hastening its end. The Prophet, Daton, of Lord Sagan's own court announced it was the beginning of the end. Planning began to mobilize the thirteen tribes, looking for other planets to settle as Kobol began to whither and die."

"Daton?" Sheba interjected with a gasp of surprise. "You mean . . ."

---------

"Commander, enemy Base Ship locking onto target," reported Dorado, his eyes fixed on the control screen.

Baltar smiled in satisfaction, nodding. "Oh, to see his reaction . . . He'll be blowing power cells after we subverted his plan."

"Holy frack!" Dorado interrupted. "It's _planetary_ . . . it's . . . Mt. Cadoc."

"_What_?" Dayton cried in disbelief. Mendax was supposed to come after _him_. "Jam all scanner frequencies! Full ECM, now."

"Sir."

"Malus!" Dayton ordered, looking from the human officer to the IL. They only had one chance, and at this range, it might not work. "Plug in!"

"I prefer to think of it as 'interfacing', Commander Dayton," replied the cybernetic Being.

"Do it, _Halogen Head_!"

"Of course, Commander . . . since you asked so nicely."

"_Harbinger_ firing her missile!" reported Dorado. On the screen, they could see the weapon tear away from the enemy vessel towards Morlais.

"Okay, Mal," said Dayton. "_Now_."

"By your command," replied the Cylon.

----------

"Nice shooting, Felic," Dietra told her co-pilot as the second Raider bound for Morlais exploded just short of the ionosphere, taking the third one out in a fireball that flashed briefly, but spectacularly.

"Was that the solenite we were warned about?" Isador asked over the comm.

"That's right," Dee replied, activating her rear scanner as a proximity alert sounded. "They were too close to each other . . . _holy frack_! Break right, Isador! Now!"

As the other Hybrid followed orders, she banked to the left, her stomach tying itself into knots as a missile passed them by on the way to Morlais.

"What do we do, Lieutenant?" Felic asked, his eyes on the scanner.

"Track it," replied Dietra. "And pray."

----------

"Not much gets past you, does it, Sheba." John smiled slightly. "Commander Mark Dayton is a descendent of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol." He paused as the Colonials gasped in disbelief. "His ancestor, Daton, was not only a learned man in Lord Sagan's court—in fact one of the greatest minds that world ever produced—but also an explorer and adventurer. He alone realized the extent of the Oculus' powers and vowed to recover it. He alone understood the significance of the danger, and that the balance of the universe was precariously pitched towards darkness. It is tragic that this part of Kobolian history has been forgotten, as it would have undoubtedly become one of the universe's great epics."

"He went after Iblis?" Apollo asked.

"Oh, he would have had it been necessary. But Daton managed to recover the Oculus, and hide it, before it fell back into Iblis' hands. By the time the thirteen tribes had begun the evacuation of Kobol, Daton realized he had to get the Oculus far from Iblis. Once they entered the void, he used the Oculus to transport the Thirteenth Tribe to Earth. He became the self-appointed Keeper of the Oculus, as you are now, Eirys."

"How would he have even _known_ about Earth?" Luana asked sceptically. "It's so much further from Kobol than any other of the Colonies."

"Well, we _might_ have had something to do with it . . ." John replied elusively. "The Oculus was safely hidden there for several generations before Iblis discovered Earth, and began tracing Daton's descendents. He pursued them mercilessly, and contrived to embroil the people in endless wars and divisions, in revenge. We knew it would only be a matter of time . . . so with the balance of the universe at stake, we intervened once again. We took the Oculus to another dimension entirely, leaving it under the watchful eye of the Angylions. Admittedly, we created a few guidelines that we hoped would eradicate the possibility of the Oculus being used as anything but a symbolic talisman. However, when its powers were used to explore the Infinite, it swiftly alerted Iblis to its existence in Morlais. Still, unless it was surrendered to him willingly, he couldn't just take it from them. Instead, he transformed a race of Angylions to Odreds, waiting for them to lose faith, and at last to submit, and to do his bidding. He has waited ten yahrens for people to lose heart, under the cybernetic Cylons, and a sequence of events to align themselves that would provide him with this opportunity. Instead, Eirys' courage and intervention has renewed her peoples' faith, tipping the balance once more in our favour. But . . ."

"But?" Apollo asked.

"But now Starbuck, Llewelyn and Ama are all within his dominion. And he will surely barter their lives in order to recover the Oculus, using its powers to give him absolute omnipotence, beyond even our influence," John told them soberly. "The entire ethereal realm will be plunged into unthinkable darkness."

"You . . . you want us to sacrifice their lives . . ." Luana realized in horror.

"Their souls?" Eirys added breathlessly.

The mountain shook as a thunderous crash reverberated through the air, and an unnatural light flooded the cavern.

"I'll return Starbuck and Llewelyn relatively unscathed in return for the Oculus now," Iblis suddenly announced from behind the small group, his hands held up as though summoning the forces of nature.

Instinctively, they pulled their weapons in self-defence, lasers and swords alike. Iblis laughed mockingly. "Those _primitive_ weapons are useless against me."

"However, the Oculus . . ." Eirys countered, holding it reverently before her. "The Oculus holds a power so infinite, it can destroy you, Iblis."

"However, only one person in the universe can wield that power against me now," Iblis smiled triumphantly, looking at John. "My own blood. And she is now far from reach, and under _my_ dominion. You have lost, John." He turned to gloat at his imminent victory. "Your own rules dictating that you don't intervene have decided the contest. You have left it too late. How delightfully ironic."

"You do not command the Oculus _yet_, Iblis," John countered.

"What does he mean by his _spawn_?" Luana asked, her voice wavering.

Iblis smiled in satisfaction. "Were you not aware? Ama is my daughter. Before I was jealously cast out by my own kind, I was Arion. The woman that you have placed on your ridiculous Council of Twelve is the very spawn of Diabolis."

"_Liar_!" Luana spat, throwing herself at the evil Being, like a feral felix about to scratch his eyes out. Apollo leapt forward, intercepting her, well aware that such an attack could result in her death. "_Let me go_!" she shrieked at him.

"You had no right to take Starbuck and Llewelyn," John admonished Iblis. "You know that full well!"

"Then it was _you_ . . ." Apollo exclaimed, fighting to control the young woman. Sheba rushed to his side to help, as Lia stood by numbly in disbelief.  
"Starbuck had planned to enter my dominion anyway when John intercepted their cozy little triune. He was as good as mine. The sudden energy created by two twin spirits colliding, merely expedited their journey to my realm. I managed to get a 'two for one' deal, if you will," Iblis replied with a despicable smile. He trained his intimidating gaze on Eirys once again. "Decide, mortal. Hand over the Oculus now, or immolate your prince and his Doublewalker. Forevermore."

Eirys looked between John and Iblis, shaking her head from side to side as she deliberated. The possibility of sacrificing her beloved prince was too painful to contemplate.

"If Starbuck had his say, he'd _never _agree! Especially knowing what's at stake! I'm willing to bet that any Doublewalker of his would feel the same way!" spat Sheba, willing Eirys to realize the same.

"Indeed?" said the Evil One, his eyes momentarily flashing with anger. "Shall we test that, Sheba? A contest? If Starbuck pleads for his life, then you concede the Oculus?"

"I . . ."

"So be it," smiled Iblis. "Let the contest begin."

----------

"Did it work? Report!" Dayton demanded, every muscle in his body taut with tension as he traced the progress of the missiles to the surface of the planet. There was a brief moment of hesitation on Malus' part that made the Earthman want to send the IL for a refit, and turn him into a vending machine. He whirled on the Cylon, snarling, "_Well_?"

"Unfortunately, I won't know until impact," Malus replied dispassionately, still interfaced with their systems.

"That's not good enough!" Dayton snapped, his concern flaring into rage as an entire race of humanoids, as well as Colonials that had become like family to him, were poised for extinction. Relatively, the Cylon artillery would make Hiroshima and Nagasaki look like popped pimples on the face of humanity. He changed tact, hoping that he could inspire just a little bit more from the Cylon. "Starbuck is down there, Mal. Your golden boy."

"I realize that, Commander." The IL bowed his head slightly, before looking back at the Earthman. "I would throw myself in front of that missile, if it were at all possible, to prevent anything happening to Starbuck. But from here, there is nothing more that we can do."

"Time to impact?" Dayton asked Dorado.

"Five microns, Commander."

This time the thought of a countdown made him want to puke. The seconds clicked by mentally as he held his breath. _Five, four, three, two, one . . ._


	24. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating the barrenness, as a thunderous crash echoed endlessly. The ground beneath them began to shake as a low rumble ominously advanced towards them, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. Dust and bits of debris drifted down on them, and Starbuck stumbled trying to maintain his balance as he shone his useless illuminator in that direction. He couldn't see a damn thing with the narrow beam, or at least anything that could be considered a threat . . .  
"Frack . . ." he muttered, his chest tightening, as fear and anxiety wrapped their vicious talons around his heart. Reflexively, he pulled his weapon.

"By Llyr," Llewelyn cried, pulling his sword and aligning himself with the Colonial Warrior. "What's happening?"

"I hope you're asking Llyr, and not me," Starbuck retorted, fanning his laser as he turned in a circle, finally settling back to back with the Angylion.

A blinding flash of light and a deafening explosion shook the ground. Starbuck staggered before falling to his hands and knees, shielding his face with one arm as a howling gust of debris showered him. Abruptly, they were plunged back into darkness and he scrambled to find his fallen illuminator as the elements went wild. Lightning, thunder, quakes, gale force winds, yeah, he'd pretty much had enough of these crazy weather patterns that existed in this dimension. It made a guy yearn for the comparatively monotonous artificial environment of a Base Ship.

Then just as suddenly there was a deathly quiet. It was frightening in comparison with the chaos just passed, and even more frightening in it absoluteness. Once again, the only sound he could hear was his and Llewelyn's rasping breaths, as their minds desperately tried to make sense of the inexplicable. Then a gentle luminescence rose like a beacon of hope before them. Starbuck squinted against the growing brightness, shielding his eyes as he tried to see beyond the blinding light.

"_Ama_?" he rasped hopefully through the dust.

A despicable laughter flowed over him, echoing through the ages. "Try again."

----------

"Oh, dear Lord . . . what have I done?" Sheba breathed, her hand covering her mouth as she stood numbly, staring at the spot where Iblis had been a moment before. She had issued a challenge . . . and Count Iblis had accepted it.

"It had nothing to do with you, Sheba," Apollo reassured her, glancing at John. "Did it?"

"No," agreed John. "You're but a pawn, Sheba."

"As are we all, apparently," Eirys added.

"Frack that," Luana inserted vehemently. "How do we help Starbuck? There must be _something _we can do. I can't just wait idly in a cave while this Count Iblis tortures him."

"The Oculus can take us to him," Eirys reminded them. "If we can find Ama while we're there, then we'll have a chance to defeat Iblis. Our _only_ chance."

"If you go, you're accepting Iblis' dominion over you. Doing so will make you vulnerable in ways that you might not be able to fathom," John warned them.

"And that's different, _how_?" Lu demanded, unimpressed. "I'm going, even if I have to hotlink the Oculus to take me there."

"And Starbuck probably taught her how," Lia inserted with a wry smile.

"I'm going too," Apollo put a hand on Lu's shoulder.

"So am I," Sheba added, as one by one Eirys, Lia and Mouric also declared their allegiance to the mission. A moment later they were all looking expectantly at John.

"Well, John?" Apollo asked, his demeanour making it clear he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"They rarely listen." John rolled his eyes towards the heavens. "Is it too late to be reassigned to the Dolphins? I must say that Cetacean intelligence appeals to me right now."

Apollo cleared his throat impatiently.

"Oh, all right," John sighed. "We all go."

----------

"Report!" demanded Mendax, aboard the _Harbinger.__ First he would destroy every last humanoid in Morlais, and then . . . _

"By-your-command. Missile-will-impact-in-one-micron."

"Excellent!" crowed Mendax. "Fire second missile." He looked at the other Base Ship on the scanner. "Target the traitor's ship."

"By-your-command."

----------

"Enemy firing another missile!" reported Dorado. "At us!"

"Hard to starboard! And hope to hell he's as lousy a shot as he is a commander!" Dayton spat through gritted teeth. "I want every laser targeting that missile . . ."

"Belay that!" said Malus, as an idea—an idea worthy of Starbuck—flashed through his processors. "Of course!"

Dayton crossed the small distance between them, grabbing the IL by the shoulders and shaking him. "You have exactly one second to explain why you'd countermand one of my orders, before I turn you into a hat rack, _Lite Brite_."

But still interfaced with the _Endeavour_, Malus wasn't listening. As fast as electrons could traverse his circuits, he accessed codes, assembled and collated data, wrote a new set of programs, and transmitted.

Towards the missile.

----------

"Holy Lords!" said Dietra, her eyes glued to her instruments, as the missile impacted Mt. Cadoc. "It's a dud!"

Cheering erupted from her squadron mates both orbiting Morlais and far above it, as the truth sunk in. The Cylon missile, carrying enough firepower to level an entire city in less than a heartbeat, had fallen flat. Its wreckage strewn all over the face of Mt. Cadoc, the once-fearsome enemy weapon was now complete felgercarb.

"They did it!" cried Felic. "_Yee-haw_!"

"Yes, they did." Dietra replied, smiling at the cry of joy, and missing it coming from her strike captain. She checked her fuel. "Now, let's get back to the _Endeavour_. I have a feeling Jolly may need our support."

----------

"Iblis!" Starbuck spat with fury and disgust, as the light dimmed sufficiently to allow him to see the supernatural Being standing before them.

"Ah, you're right where I wanted you, Starbuck. On your knees." Iblis smiled malevolently down at the warrior, his white cloak billowing behind him. "Beg for your life and I will set you free. Defy me, and I will torment you for all of eternity."

"Go to Hades Hole!" spat Starbuck.

"Where do you think you are now, cretin?" replied Iblis. "The Fields of Joy?"

"Where's Ama?" Starbuck demanded, as his hand instinctively tightening on his laser while he regained his feet. He holstered the useless weapon, his hand instead migrating towards the hilt of his sword. Beside him, Llewelyn also stood up, his sword in hand. "What have you done with her?"

Iblis looked around distractedly, as though trying to remember. "Oh, she's somewhere around here."

"Where?" Starbuck snarled, an abrupt inspiration taking form. Over Empyrean Ales in the OC, Dayton had once told him of a bizarre Earth legend whereby the life of an immortal could be permanently ended . . .

_If_ it was true . . .

Then Iblis raised his head minutely, suddenly looking concerned. It took Starbuck right back to the site of Apollo's "death", when the Beings of Light had come calling. Iblis sensed something. He was preoccupied, his "guests" momentarily forgotten. It was the perfect time . . .

In a flash, Starbuck pulled his sword, leaping towards the evil Being, his blade already beginning to slash from side to side as he aimed to strike Iblis' neck from his shoulders. He could almost hear Dayton murmuring, _in the end, there can be only one. _Okay, maybe in this instance the strange Earth phrase didn't make much sense, but it was worth a roll of the dice when you were stuck in an alternate dimension and slated to spend eternity with Count Iblis. Out of the blue, Iblis' words on the _Rising Star_ from so long ago drifted back to him. _I can see you and I are going to be soul mates._

Iblis was uncharacteristically slow to realize his danger, his head only just beginning to turn back towards Starbuck, as the blade sliced through the air. His eyes began to widen, registering shock, while the blade slammed into the Count, as though it had just smashed up against an invisible force field. Burning pain ripped through Starbuck's body, consuming him, as a vivid image of his skin melting from his bones, running onto the ground in rivulets, filled his consciousness. The Colonial Warrior could hear a scream of terror as a blanketing blackness enfolded him, and he succumbed, thankfully, to oblivion.

----------

Mendax looked at the scope in disbelief. His oscillating eyes had stopped dead for a long moment, when the missile had slammed home on the plateau before the Angylion Holy Sanctum . . . and did nothing. He rechecked his scanner, and internally re-ran what he had just witnessed. The missile had indeed failed.

"How?" he demanded. "HOW, CENTURION?"

"Telemetry-indicates-the-warhead-disarmed-itself."

"What? But how?" He checked the scanner. The screen was filled with garbage. Lines of code, words, fragments of images, swirling and rolling about in utter chaos. "This . . . cannot be!" He punched several controls, to no effect. "Those arming circuits are . . ."

He swirled, looking back at the image of the _Endeavour__._ Of course! That . . . that treasonous piece of Boray mong, Malus! Somehow, when he had access to their systems, earlier . . .

"Status of second missile?"

"Second-missile-altering-course," reported the centurion.

"What? What course?" shouted Mendax, although inside, he already knew.

----------

_Wake up!_

Everything tingled, with an underlying layer of "burn". Actually, the more he lay there thinking about it, the more he felt like the personification of one of Porter's _Seven-Layer Dips_. Tingling, burning, panic, nausea, fear, pain, with a hearty base of complete exhaustion. Mix them all together, serve them up on a cracker, and it was one Hades hole of an appetizer for the infinite ages at Iblis' table of eternal damnation and torment.

"_Wake up_!"

The hands that gripped him by the shoulders and shook him were insistent, dragging him from the relative comfort of his stupefied state, back out into the realm of reality, whatever _reality_ was in this pit. His eyes flickered open, still unfocussed, and he winced, groaning aloud as the shaking became even more demanding.

"_Don't_," he murmured, the word sounding thick and guttural, as he clawed at the abusive hands.

"Are you . . . _quite alright__, _Starbuck?" Llewelyn asked, leaning over him.

Starbuck snorted, not dignifying the inane question with a reply. Shakily, he raised his hand before his eyes, noting in surprise that his skin was still attached, and not lying in a pool of horror beneath him, like he remembered. It had been some warped trick of Iblis' . . . an illusion. He shuddered, trying to leave the memory behind, while he blinked a couple more times, trying to focus. A soft light was shining from beside him. His sword lay there, and the glow that emanated from the bent and notched blade was . . . just weird.

"What happened?" Starbuck asked, looking around, and seeing no sign of Iblis.

"I believe . . . I believe you destroyed him," Llewelyn replied uncertainly. "When you struck with the sword, there was an unbearably bright light. I . . . I could see naught. And the sound . . . it was enough to make my ears ring. When I could finally focus again, Iblis was gone and you were lying here insensate, your sword glowing like an Angylion symbol of strength and courage, Doublewalker." He put a supportive arm around the Colonial Warrior, assisting him to sit up. "Such bravery takes a certain amount of desperation, with perhaps a bit of rash stupidity. I know not whether to berate you, or feel ashamed that I had not thought of it first." He left out his own attempt to run Iblis through, since by then some supernatural phenomena had already removed Iblis from his reach.

"He's gone?" Starbuck repeated in disbelief. "You mean it actually worked ?" For a moment he dared to believe it, until reality reminded him . . . "Wait a centon, if he's really destroyed . . . shouldn't he be lying here dead?"

Llewelyn shrugged. "I'm not certain . . . he's not made of flesh and blood, as are you and I. Perhaps it is different for Mystics. Have you destroyed one before this?"

"Uh, _no_. This is a first for me."

"Unfortunate."

Then a faint tremor began beneath them, growing to a full scale quake as a deafening rumble rolled over them in waves. The ground began to split, thick shoots of a thorny vegetation penetrating it, thrusting up towards the sky all around them.

"_Get up_!"

Llewelyn pulled his Doublewalker to his feet, supporting him as they became immured in a forest of thorns. It took Starbuck right back to the Thorn Forest of Umbra when he was a tot, except these titans shot impossibly high, blotting out what they could see of a sky. He felt closed in, in more ways than one, as recently surfaced memories rushed back to him, leaving him feeling as vulnerable as a defenceless child.

"Do you hear that?" Llewelyn asked, his grip painfully tight on the warrior.

As the horrible rumbling of the ground died away into yet another eerie silence, Starbuck could detect a gradual droning that seemed to come from all around them, surrounding them as surely as the thorns had.

"Cylons," Starbuck hissed.

"Cerberus," Llewelyn said at the same time, turning to regard Starbuck impatiently. "_Cylons_, you said? Are you deaf?"

"What the frack's a Cerberus?" Starbuck asked, not understanding how he could be hearing one thing, and the Angylion prince another.

"It's a vicious, three-headed beast," Llewelyn replied, swallowing visibly. "When I was a child, my mother and I were in a forest much like this that bordered the desert lands south of Morlais. A Cerberus came after us . . ." his words trailed off, as he sucked in a steadying breath.

"Let me take a wild guess . . . your mother died saving you," Starbuck ventured, as the droning became louder and louder. He could only imagine that Llewelyn was hearing the growl of this strange Angylion beast as the man's stance stiffened with a rising anxiety that Starbuck could understand only too well.

"How could you know that?" Llewelyn demanded, releasing his hold on the Colonial Warrior, turning to face him.

"Because _my_ mother died in the Thorn Forests of Umbra . . . saving _me_. From the Cylons." He drew in a deep breath, feeling his heart doing its best to pound its way through his chest at the coincidence. "Don't you understand? Iblis is trying to recreate our worst nightmares!"

"This is all an illusion," Llewelyn whispered, his tone somewhere between a statement and a question. "It is unreal!"

Starbuck nodded, but his recognition of the fact wasn't doing a goddamned thing to quell his unease. "Either that or we just ended up in one really warped rewrite of _Yochanan and the Beanstalk_."

"I don't understand . . ."

"You're probably not alone," Starbuck returned, as the sound grew in intensity. He pulled his laser, looking down in horror, and then crying out in disgust as it transformed within his grip. Slimy, cold-blooded, and alive, he thrust it away instinctively. Both men jumped back out of the way as the scaly, slime-covered black serpent raised its hooded head, training its obsidian eyes on them, exposing its lethal fangs, before it slithered away into the dense thorns. "Getting to be one of those days . . ." Starbuck rasped, his mouth dry and the sound of his heart beat echoing in his ears. He could have sworn, just for an instant, that the creature had . . . smiled, at him.

"Llyr, help us . . ." Llewelyn breathed, adjusting the grip on his sword as he turned in a circle. "Arm yourself, Starbuck."

"In case you hadn't noticed, that's what I was doing when my laser decided to wriggle away." A little reluctantly, Starbuck leaned down, grabbing his sword. The eerie glow from the blade seemed to brighten marginally. At the same time he felt a warmth on his chest, where his Empyrean talisman rested. He touched the medallion, feeling a slight heat suffuse him. Like the Angylion prince, he turned in a slow circle, studying the thicket they were in, looking for some sign . . . _Ama?_

_Courage, son of my heart. _A shimmering translucence circled around him lazily, like a wisp of smoke, before it gradually disappeared, and somehow he just knew . . .

"Ama's here," Starbuck breathed, hope flaring to life, as the Angylion prince looked at him searchingly. Was it Ama who was to die in his mother's place this time? Not while he was still breathing!

"She's smaller than I remember," Llewelyn observed wryly, raising a sceptical eyebrow at his Doublewalker as the din grew around them. An advancing invisible wave of menace, a choking miasma of fear, the surrounding thorns began to shake as their aggressors neared. The prince raised his sword before him, poised for the attack. "_Freedom! Glory! Morlais_!" he shouted, as though trying to inspire a legion of troops that stood figuratively with him. His usual aura seemed to grow just a little brighter, taking on a golden glow. Like some heroic figure of yore, his long hair flowed out over his shoulders, while his muscles rippled as he hefted his fearsome weapon.

Any guy who hadn't figured out that they were about to engage a legion of Iblis' most powerful minions with nothing but swords somewhere in between despair and Hades hole, just _might_ be inspired, but all the same, the battle cry quelled some of Starbuck's rising anxiety, and the familiar calm that usually descended during combat swept over him. Unconsciously, his right thumb settled on the hilt, exactly as it had countless times on the firing stud of his control stick.

With a deep, steadying breath, he struck a similar pose to the prince's, as the thorns parted, and an oppressive wave of Cylons marched towards them. Sagan's sake, he might not be an Angylion prince, but he _was_ the strike captain of the _Endeavour_. He should be able to come up with something equally inspiring. With the glimmer of a smile, he hollered, "_Last one to the OC buys_!" as he leapt into the gaping maw of fate.

---------

"_Holy_ . . ." said Dayton.

"What is?" asked Malus.

"You're a genius, Mal! A goddamned genius!" Dayton roared as he watched the course change of the Cylon missile. He threw an arm around the IL, giving him a nuggie.

"Is this some sort of Earth ceremony for such an occasion?" the IL asked, as he detected the commander's knuckle grinding into his cybernetic skull. That could . . . hurt.

"Looks tribal to me," Baltar added with a smirk, not immune to the infectious joy that had swept over the Control Centre. It would never have occurred to him to do the same to Lucifer.

Except, perhaps, with a wrench.

"Man, I didn't know the potential we had with you!" Dayton shook his head in incredulity. He'd been resistant to placing _any_ trust in a robot, especially one that had with such apparent ease changed sides. It took him straight back to '79 with Maximilian in the _Black Hole_. A dog of a movie, but a lasting impression. "Pierus, see if you can get Mendax on the horn. What I wouldn't give to see his sparkly little billboard of a head right now! Bet it looks like a disco ball on steroids."

"I . . . I shot up the communication console when the mega-pulsar exploded," Baltar admitted.

"And if I was in command, I'd be doing whatever I could to get it going again so I could keep in touch with my centurions," Dayton replied with a nod of acknowledgement. "Pierus, get on the horn!"

"The horn, sir?"

"Sorry. Earth moment. The commline, Pierus. Open a channel on the commline."

"Getting on the horn, sir," smiled the cadet, following suit.

---------

With a flash of light, they were transported from Morlais into Iblis' realm. It took a moment for the small group of humanoids to adjust from one environment to another.

"What _is_ this place?" Luana asked, one hand on her laser, and the other on her Empyrean talisman as an iciness like she had never experienced before swept over her. Somewhat akin to terror and anguish, the emotional impact of just being within Iblis' dominion was undeniable. It made her want to find a small corner to hunker down in and hide until the demons coming alive in her imagination finally passed her by. She tried to shake the sick, cloying feeling off, telling herself that this was only short-term. _Get on with the mission, Lu. Find Starbuck._

"A place where darkness abides, and light has never penetrated. Another dimension apart from your own where Iblis exercises complete control over those who have entered into his dominion," John replied. "Even now I sense he is testing his power over you, toying with you."

Luana nodded. "No kidding."

"I have not felt like this since I was a small boy, running for my mother's skirts," Mouric stated. Others murmured their agreement.

"How do we find Starbuck?" Apollo asked, looking around into the cavernous darkness, his illuminator revealing only more nothingness. "And Ama."

"Ama's _here_, I can feel her," Lia suddenly inserted, voice close to a whisper, as a shimmering light wafted towards them. Then she frowned, chewing her lip. "At least her _spirit_ is here."

"If it's just her spirit that Lia detects, does that mean . . . Ama's dead?" Sheba whispered, leaning into Apollo as he put an arm around her. After all, this place was supposed to be _filled _with the spirits of the dead. Wasn't it?

"Not technically," John replied. "It's rather complicated, and I doubt you'd understand."

"Being mere mortals, and all," Sheba frowned in frustration. She was beginning to think this Being thought they were all a bit on the dumb side of stupid. "What are you saying, John?"

"Is Ama dead or alive?" Luana insisted, tears pricking the backs of her eyes. "Give it to us straight! We're not children!"

"On an immortal time scale, children are exactly what you are," John smiled, shrugging slightly. "Ama's spirit lives on, but in _this_ place, her mortal vessel has ceased to exist."

"Sounds pretty damned dead to me," Luana shivered, fighting back the wave of despair that suddenly washed over her. Lia was there in a heartbeat, putting an arm around her sister, sharing in her grieving, even as she supported her.

"_Dearest_ _Triquetra_ . . ." Lia murmured brokenly.

"We believe that after death, the spirit evolves to another plain of existence," Eirys added.

"The physical body can actually limit most underdeveloped species' spiritual progress," John elucidated.

"But _this_?" Luana rasped. It was absolutely wrong that a spirit like Ama's could be immured in such darkness for all of eternity. Add to that the fact that Starbuck could very well be joining her . . . A choking sob escaped, as an emotional deluge of anguish hit her like a tidal force. It all seemed so utterly hopeless . . . even knowing that Iblis was probably enhancing those feelings.

"Now, now, it's not as bad as all that," John tried to console her, waving his hands in the air as if he could magically ward off the emotional miasma. Then he turned to where the shimmering light form had taken the shape of a spectral image. "I believe it is time."

"Time for what, John?" Apollo demanded, his own anxiety rising as he gazed in bewilderment upon the apparition. "What is going on?"

"Ama?" John said politely, holding out his hands, palms upward.

The spectral image started to gain density, solidifying before their eyes. In a moment Ama stood there before them, looking no different than she had when they had last seen her.

"Ama!" Lia cried, throwing herself towards her godmother, her arms reaching to embrace her. Instead, she passed right through the Empyrean necromancer.

"Well, I didn't care for that," Ama frowned, turning to look at her trembling godchild. Lia's eyes were wide with fright. "Don't fash yourself, Lia. You look as though you've seen a ghost." Then she smiled slightly, stepping forward, her hand moving as though she was stroking her goddaughter's cheek. "Do not lose faith, dear one."

Lia's eyes widened in surprise, touching her cheek. "I . . . I _felt_ that. But how . . .?"

"Light _is_ life, child," Ama reminded her, crossing to Luana and repeating the gesture.

Luana closed her eyes, feeling the soft, reaffirming touch of the necromancer, revelling in the sudden sensations it evoked. The darkness, the fear, the horror all disappeared, as though purified and transformed by the necromancer's presence, leaving behind a hope and faith that somehow things would work out.

"Ama," Lia murmured, holding out the melted talisman that had once been the symbol of Ama's powers.

"Thank you, Lia," Ama murmured, closing her eyes slightly before reaching forward, and placing her hand open-palmed beneath the mangled amulet. She nodded at her goddaughter, who let it go. Lia gasped as it appeared to melt like quicksilver, before shifting within the necromancer's grip and returning to its previous magnificence. She deftly put it around her neck where it rested on her chest, as it had most of her life.

Then Eirys stepped forward, carrying the Oculus before her. "Iblis said that you're his daughter, White Witch. Is that true? Or just another of his lies?"

"It may have been true once, but no longer. I am a child of the gods, now," Ama replied with a smile. "Hurry now. Starbuck is running out of time."

----------

Every fighter pilot's eyes were on their scanners, watching the missile that had been launched from the _Harbinger_ alter course. Jolly breathed a sigh of relief as he checked his scanner, ruling out possible targets based on the missile's trajectory. It was still adjusting course. First, almost losing Morlais, and now the _Endeavour_, the stakes were only getting higher as the day progressed.

"Lieutenant Jolly, the Raider pursuing us just lost her engines. She's dead in the air!" Acastus reported.

"That's about the best news I've had all day!" Jolly grinned. He checked his tactical display. "They're too far from their Base Ship to make it back, and too low on fuel to be a real threat to us or the _Endeavour_ now. Let's kick in our turbos and give them some room. Let them use up what tylium they have left."

"Sounds good, Jolly," Giles inserted. "As long as we get to come back and pick them off later."

"That's a promise. I'll take volunteers on the Cleanup Crew."

"Sign me up!"

"Jolly, Dee here."

"Welcome back, Dee. That was some fine shooting your wing did. Glad to see that Morlais is still in one piece." Not only had a nation of Angylions almost been destroyed, but so had several people that he cared about, probably more than he would like to admit.

"You and I both," she replied. "Did I hear you say that we get to sit back on our laurels and watch the show for now?"

"You did, and it's deserved, Lieutenant."

"Why, Jolly, that sounds like you're buying back at the OC?" she teased him.

"Dee, you've really been hanging around with . . ."

"_Starbuck_ _for too long_!" a chorus of cadets chimed in.

"Five centons can be too long," smiled Jolly. "Okay, all wings report in."

----------

Starbuck's arms felt leaden, as he hefted his sword over and over again, while an endless line of Cylons advanced to replace the one he had struck down before. Thorns tore at his uniform and flesh as he pushed through them, wading through Cylon dead. With each strike of his blade, he could hear his mother's scream echo in his ears from yahrens past, not as easily forgotten as he had once thought. With every scream came a renewed determination in his soul that he would kill each and every one of them.

"Starbuck! They keep coming!" Llewelyn rasped from metrons away. A jagged cut on his arm was dripping blood.

"They don't call it _eternal_ damnation for nothing!" Starbuck called back, hissing in pain when a Cylon sword nicked his forearm as he jumped back. Blood welled up from the flesh wound, but there wasn't time to give it a passing thought as he watched Llewelyn intervene, striking down the offending Cylon, sending its metal head rolling with a mighty cleave of his weapon.

"Behind you!" the prince called.

Starbuck turned, his heart dropping into his boots when he saw the full phalanx of centurions, boots tramping like coordinated doom, coming at him like a wall. He swallowed the fear in his throat, trying not to contemplate the odds as he raised his sword once again.

Then a malignant chuckle seemed to reverberate from the darkness. "Plead for your life, Starbuck!" Iblis' voice carried over the battleground. "If you do it convincingly, I _might_ be moved towards mercy."

"This seems to be all about you," Llewelyn grunted aside, looking somewhat disappointed by that. "I'm rather accustomed to it being all about _me_."

"I'll bet you are," Starbuck spared a fleeting smile at his Doublewalker, even as he tried to imagine what "mercy" would look like from the keeper of this darkness. "I'll never concede, Iblis! _Never!_" he yelled.

"Then die a thousand deaths, each one more painful than the one before!" Iblis roared in fury as his legions advanced.

----------

"Missile-altering-course-directly-towards-us, Commander," the centurion informed Mendax.

"_Wha_ . . . Shoot it down! Now!"

"Impossible. Due-to-damage-sustained-all-laser-batteries-are-off-line."

"But . . . No! Override! Override! Get out of its way! Evasive manoeuvres!"

"By-your-command."

"_Mendax__?"_

The IL turned again. Remarkably, the comm was working. It was Malus on the main screen. Baltar . . . and the _manservant_ were standing beside him.

"What? You traitorous . . ."

_"__W__e__ just wanted to tell you one thing__, __Baltar, Commander Dayton and I__."_

"What?" spat Mendax as the realization struck him that he had held the commanding officer of the _Harrower_ prisoner, and had been convinced he was the lowly manservant of an Angylion prince. _No wonder_ . . . He spared a micron's attention to the scanner, and saw the missile. "Oh, _felgercarb_!"

Dayton leaned closer and waved his right hand across the screen. His smile was one of pure venom as he stuttered, "_Th-th-th-th-th-th-th-th-that's all, folks_!"

The three vanished, replaced by the image of the approaching missile.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO......................................"

----------

Starbuck's muscles burned with the enormous exertion, as he desperately met the Cylon swords blow for blow. He felt like he was on autopilot; his body going through the motions, brain disconnected, reproducing offensive and defensive moves that Dayton had drilled into him on the _Endeavour_. Who could have known that his friend and commander's rigorous training, meant to recondition him after extensive injuries four sectars ago on Planet 'P', was actually going to save his life one day?

_Ama probably did _. . ._ but Dayton would take credit for it anyway._

Still, skill and discipline could only take a man so far. How many Cylons had he struck down so far? Twenty? Fifty? A thousand? How many had Llewelyn added to the pile? Too many to count, as it all flowed into a blur. The scene had a hint of surrealism that could only come from drugs, alcohol or bone-numbing exhaustion. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, and he didn't even feel the source of the blood running in rivulets down his arm. Any micron now he would fall under a dozen Cylon swords, feeling the cold metal part skin and muscle, slicing through bone and sinew, as the centurions dispassionately and soullessly hacked him to pieces. By then he knew that he'd welcome death, but in this case, it was an elusive dream. An eternity of pain and suffering was his fate as Iblis' soul mate.

_Damn you, Iblis! Damn you, you equines' astrum! _

_Beg for mercy, Starbuck! _Iblis' malignant voice echoed through his head, issuing the ultimatum. The demonic Lord of Suffering laughed, as Starbuck dodged a Cylon's blade, before ramming the tip of his own blade into the centurion's optical scanner slit. The robot's head erupted in sparks, and it toppled back. _Beg for mercy and I'll end this!_

"_Never_!" he shouted at the sky, renewing his attack, cutting down another Cylon with a vicious blow that took off its head. The rest of the cybernetic body staggered in front of him for a moment, and with a fierce yell he kicked the teetering centurion's body with the heel of his boot, sending it smashing into those coming up behind it. The intensely crazed satisfaction was addictive, better than cubits, better than booze, better than drugs or sex, and he roared again at the harbingers of death, leaping into the fray. Each crash of his metal blade biting into Cylon armour was invigorating! Mentally, he counted each loathsome cyborg as it hit the ground, not caring any longer that it would be replaced. He was as much a machine as the Cylons . . . _kill, kill, kill _. . .

_ Smack! _Another centurion went down, half-chopped neck belching sparks and smoke.

The burst of sudden light barely made an impact, so intent was he on annihilating every last Cylon standing. Then the wave of centurions parted, and he could suddenly see Iblis. Smiling. Taunting. Evilness.

"Iblis!" Starbuck roared, manipulating his blade in a showy "windmill" that Dayton would have kicked his astrum for, had he seen it. Then he raised the sword pointing it towards the Count, feeling his fury and strength amass as he charged the Evil One, no longer caring what would happen. If he was to die a killer, then let him die trying to kill Iblis once again.

"Starbuck! _NO!!!_!"

A metron short of Iblis, he hit the sudden blue ball of energy like a wall of stone. Yet instead of feeling pain, he felt himself falling backwards into comforting warmth, suspending him effortlessly as though he were floating on air. Concern, love, and tenderness flowed over and through him, like being a boy in his mother's arms, pushing aside his defences effortlessly. It made his chest hitch painfully with overwhelming emotion, as the frigid barricade, that he had carefully erected to maintain his sanity and purpose, abruptly crumbled. It left him weak as a baby felix, and trembling with weariness.

_Ama?_

_Shush, now. And know the truth._

Then impossibly, he was soaring hand in hand with the Empyrean necromancer, across the heavens. In an eye blink, the stars ripped by, as they came to Earth. In another heartbeat he discovered Hummer and Dickins, both imprisoned, locked away in a military fortress, the majority of Earthlings not even knowing they existed. The superpowers of Earth, stupidly, were denying the existence of the greatest threat known to mankind. After all the Colonials had done to send the astronaut and technician there four sectars ago in the rebuilt shuttle _Endeavour,_ to prepare the pubescent planet . . . It had all been a waste of time and effort, and had ultimately cost two men their freedom.

_There's more . . ._

And most chillingly, a Base Ship was nearing Earth, following a long-range beacon from a Cylon Raider that had crashed on their moon. The home of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol was running out of time.

_You must tell Adama, Starbuck_. _Give me your pledge, Oh Son of My Heart._

And he knew then that she wouldn't be returning with them.

_Your pledge, Starbuck._

"On my life."

Even as he began to nod dutifully, he was abruptly thrown back into what Llewelyn called the Nonentity. It was like being shot down a launch tube, without a Viper. In a blinding blast of light he was thrust forward, his sword extended before him, glowing like a beacon of strength and truth as he stumbled to a halt before Eirys, John and Ama. Iblis still stood beyond them, overlooking the battle, his cape flowing behind him, billowing in some invisible wind. He pointed at them menacingly, his face somewhere between rage and sadistic glee, but the Colonial Warrior recognized the concern lurking beneath his mien. Starbuck paused only a moment to embrace Ama, but startled as his hands passed through her, as though she was a Being of Light . . .

"Let me," she murmured, stepping towards him, her hands outreached.

He closed his eyes briefly as she rested her hands on either side of his face and tilted her forehead to rest on his, as she had a hundred times before. This time, their connection was visceral, and almost healing in nature, as he accepted the woman's virtue and energy into his heart and soul without his usual protestations. A moment later, he felt the faintest flutter of a kiss against his lips, and when he opened his eyes in surprise, she grinned her gapped-tooth smile, like the felix that ate the falco.

"I've wanted to do that for a very long time, Starbuck," she cackled, and winked at him.

"What _would_ my father say?" he smiled, then drew a deep breath, before asking, "There must be _some_ way, Ama . . .?"

"Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart," she smiled. "And give no purchase to doubt."

He nodded, quickly assessing the situation. Around him, Luana, Apollo, Sheba, Lia and Mouric had joined the fight, battling Cylons, or Cerberus, with whatever weapon—or point of view—they had. Suddenly, he felt renewed, infused with new strength and purpose. A strength not of flesh, but of spirit. He looked at his sword, blazing like a sunburst, and took a deep breath.

"_Death to Cylon!__"_he roared, and the very air seemed to tremble like some ancient force come back to life. There was an energy that he couldn't describe, but he knew the tide had turned, that the battle would be theirs. Then, he was once again in the fray, hewing down centurions as once Umbrans had cut grain, naturally migrating towards his wife. He brought his blade down on a centurion's head, ripping into the circuits within.

"_DEATH TO CYLON!__"_

Ancient chants older than the ages spewed from the Empyrean necromancer. Her Empyrean talisman glowed like a lodestar. She pulled it from her neck, holding it upward, as John and Eirys stood with her in triune. The Angylion sorceress held up the Oculus, her radiant light flowing through it. The chamber came alive as a whirl of cosmic energy burst forth from the Oculus, emitting a blinding ray of light and a blast of power that flattened everything in its path. It was like a hurricane gone wild.

In silence was victory.

"Innamorato?"

"Lu . . ."

When he rolled over, it took him only a moment to realize they were back in the Angylion Holy Sanctum, atop Mt. Cadoc. In a glance he counted those present. Lu, Lia, Apollo, Sheba, Eirys and Mouric . . . no Ama. No John either, but then his uniform had returned to the usual colour, so the ethereal Being could be anywhere. Starbuck sat up, catching his wife as she threw her arms around him, crumbling into his embrace. He stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head as he murmured nonsensical reassurances, rocking her in his arms.

Two great cosmic forces colliding, one destined to enervate the other through some inexplicable sacrifice. If Iblis was indeed gone, then it was at the cost of Ama. She'd become such a force in his life, that he couldn't fathom she was gone. The loss would be even harder on Lu and Lia. Victory, as always, was bittersweet, and, at least in his mind, not entirely justified. However, he'd learned that life wasn't fair from a young age . . . the same time that he'd_ first _learned about what a mother would sacrifice for her children.

_Give him one for me, Ama!_

----------

The bridge crew of the _Endeavour _watched, as the missile flawlessly tracked and struck the _Harbinger,_ directly in one of her launch bays. The warhead erupted in a blue-white blossom of fire, as the fearsome energy of her solonite charge was unleashed. The bay was blown open, bulkheads ripped and decks peeled back, as the pure shock of the blast tore through the ship like the tsunami from Hell. Secondary explosions followed, as the remaining tylium stores were ignited, and her own ordnance followed quickly. The ship was tossed up on end, her hull sending out shattered hunks of debris, spewing fire and rubble as she began to spin end over end. Another explosion followed, as deep in her bowels her reactors were breached, and the _Harbinger_ vanished in a blinding supernova of light and nuclear fire.

"Lords of Kobol!" said Coxcoxtli, as the other ship evaporated into oblivion.

"Move us back, helm," ordered Dayton. "Out of the range of possible debris."

"Aye, sir."

"That was . . . impressive," said Baltar.

"Malus?" said Dayton, turning to the IL.

"Commander?" replied the other, placidly, disconnecting himself from the ship's mainframe.

"What did you do? Specifically."

"Simple. I wrote a new program, overriding the missile's failsafe and tracking instructions. I made it believe that the _Harbinger_ had uploaded new targeting instructions, and sent it back where it came from."

"Holy Saints! What ever made you think of _that_?"

"Simple, Commander. I just asked myself, what would Starbuck do?"

"You're not just a pretty face, Mal." Dayton quipped before he turned to look at the cloud of cooling wreckage that had been the Cylon _Abaddon-_class Base Ship, _Harbinger._

"That _was_ brilliant, Mal," said Dorado.

"I didn't know it was possible," Baltar nodded, as impressed as the others.

"These missiles and their control systems are older, Baltar," said Malus. "They are more vulnerable to modern attacks."

"Thank the Lords," replied Baltar.

"I hope you've upgraded ours?" asked Dorado.

"Oh yes," said Malus. "That was taken care of, before our launch. It was only during my tie-in to the _Harrower'_s systems that I saw the potential gap in their shields, as it were."

"You amaze me, Malus," said Baltar. "Honestly."

"You really hated him, didn't you?" asked Dayton.

"I believe I did. He hurt Starbuck," said Malus, flatly. "He had to pay."

"Speaking of which," Dayton inserted. "Prepare a shuttle. I'm going down to Mt. Cadoc."

"I should very much like to join you, Commander," Malus inserted.

"Of course," Dayton nodded. He could almost picture the Malus-Starbuck reunion, but it was coming off as too much like a bad romance movie. His strike captain really needed to have a "heart to central processor" talk with the Cylon.

"As would I, Commander," Baltar added, his features suddenly veiled as he awaited and probably expected Dayton to fire him into the Brig for their return trip to the Fleet. "I would . . . I'd be in your debt . . ." he trailed off, obviously having difficulty saying those words, the distaste written on his features.

"You're not planning to stay behind, are you, Baltar?" Dayton asked frankly. "It's my duty to take you back to the Fleet where you'll continue to serve out your sentence . . ."

Baltar raised a hand, shaking his head, as the Earthman slowly clamped his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest. "I merely want to see this through . . . and say goodbye to the Angylions. Nothing more. You have my word."

"There was a time your word wouldn't have meant much, Baltar," Dorado ventured.

"I think they call it _yesterday_," Coxcoxtli inserted poignantly.

"And there it is, out in the open like a zit on the end of your nose. What about now?" Dayton asked his bridge officers, his gaze moving around the Control Centre and settling on each Colonial Warrior who would meet his eyes. He could definitely detect some mixed emotions. "Speak up!"

"He certainly lent a credence to our ruse, Commander," Malus inserted. "But perhaps you would give scant weight to _my _opinion on Baltar, especially since I also once dedicated my service to the Imperious Leader."

Dayton raised his eyebrows, considering the IL. "I never met a leopard that could change its spots, Mal. At least, until I met you." Then he pressed onward before he felt the need to apologize to a cyborg for his previous borderline hostility. "As you all know, I'm an Earthman, and what this man single-handedly did to your home worlds didn't touch me on the same personal level that it touched all of you. So I'm going to leave the decision up to you." He fanned his hand out, encompassing them. "All in favour of Baltar having a couple more hours . . . er, centars of freedom, say 'aye'. All against, say 'nay'."


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

As soon as they had neared Morlais, they had picked up a shuttle and Hybrid-Raider on their scanners heading towards the site of the Angylion battlefield. Colonel Apollo quickly confirmed their assumption, and after a quick debriefing on both party's parts, all three Colonial ships decided to rendezvous at the site. Initial reports indicated that all were unharmed, except the Empyrean witch, whose whereabouts and fate were somewhat uncertain. Count Iblis had been mysteriously neutralized, although rumour had it that it would take more than a few stiff drinks to get a complete account from the _Endeavour_'s strike captain on those details.

Baltar drew in a deep, invigorating breath of fresh air, knowing it was unlikely he would ever be given the opportunity to taste freedom again. It had been a long time, he had to admit, since he'd had a sensation like this. The air on the planet where he had been marooned had never felt right, lending more to a feeling of exile than freedom. This was different.

Baltar hesitated near the hatch of the shuttle that had transported him there as Dayton and Malus brushed by him, heading in two different directions. The IL was beating a path towards Starbuck, not surprisingly, and the Earthman towards Cassiopeia, the med tech that had once cared for him on the _Galactica_ while he had been quarantined for parasites.

For the first time since he could remember, Baltar could actually stand there inconspicuously observing as men, women, and oddball Cylons interacted. No one was staring at him hatefully or malignantly, or was likely to take a shot at him. It was almost surreal, in a way. He watched the med tech fly into the _Endeavour_ commander's arms, the two embracing with a passion reserved for lovers separated by a dangerous situation. A moment later Ryan appeared from a crowd of amassed Angylions, with a child on his shoulders, heading towards Apollo. Another gleeful reunion between the Colonel, Sheba and the youngster ensued. Baltar could not help but smile. Finally, he turned his gaze to Starbuck. The battered strike captain had an arm each around his wife and sister-in-law, offering them support and comfort, as the IL raced towards them. For a moment, Starbuck met Baltar's eyes. Despite all his skill in reading others, Baltar could not divine what was in Starbuck's mind, possibly due to the exhaustion that masked all else. The pilot held his gaze for a long moment before he simply nodded, and turned his attention to Malus.

Coming from Starbuck, it was high praise indeed.

"I am relieved to see you are unharmed, Baltar, and so very pleased that you returned to say your farewells."

Eirys' soft, lilting voice made his heart flutter as though he was a young man again. He turned to regard the vision of loveliness approach him, drinking in her radiance like a man dying of thirst. "I am likewise . . . _pleased_ to see you, gentle Eirys," he smiled, feeling strangely tentative at his choice of words. "Seeing you again is a welcome relief."

She held out her hands, and he immediately moved to take them in his own. Such a woman! Beauty, courage, intelligence, talent, determination . . . he felt uncharacteristically tongue-tied, like a kid on his first date, as he stood there basking in the light of her wondrousness. Interestingly, she also stood quietly, simply regarding him. The moment stretched out, until it couldn't help but become noticeable . . . but not necessarily uncomfortable. Then she laughed, and he found himself joining her, breaking the spell they were under.

"You are a great man, Baltar. I wish to offer you my debt of gratitude, and to admit . . ." She dropped her eyes a fraction before tilting up her chin and smiling at him once again. "I will miss you. I wish we had had more time to come to know one another."

Baltar winced. All along he had maintained the deception that he was a respected member of Colonial society, with Starbuck as his unlikely accomplice. In his heart he knew he couldn't part ways with Eirys sustaining the lie. He knew that he had to take the leap, and do something very, very hard.

He had to tell her the truth. Even at the risk of losing her esteem.

"What is it, Baltar?" Eirys asked, obviously sensing his sudden discomfiture.

"I need to tell you something, Eirys. I'm . . . I'm not quite the man you think I am."

She tilted her head, a faint smile playing on her lips as she nodded once and replied, "Oh, I doubt that very much . . . but please go on."

"Well . . . once I was a member of the Colonial Quorum of Twelve. And I _did _hold the rank of commander." He sighed, reluctantly pushing forward. "But then . . ."

----------

Dayton held Cassiopeia tightly, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of having the woman he loved safely back in his arms. The Angylions were liberated, the _Harbinger_ was destroyed, Count Iblis was neutralized, and Starbuck was still standing _and_ in one piece. Other than losing Ama in some kind of supernatural power struggle that he still didn't understand and probably never would, all in all, it was not a bad day. Caught up in the moment, he impulsively realized that there was only one thing that could make it better. . .

"Cassiopeia, I've been thinking . . ."

Her eyes opened wide as she pulled back from him, and she regarded him in silence for a long moment. "Yes?"

"Well," Dayton replied with a slow smile. "I know I'm a bit long in the tooth . . ." She raised her eyebrows at that, focusing for a moment on his incisors, and he realized he'd done it again. Yet another idiom. "I'm _old_, Cassiopeia."

"Like vintage ambrosa . . ." she teased him.

"More like a vintage Model T Ford," Ryan suddenly threw in from behind them. "Just don't kick his tires, because you won't like the sound he makes."

"_Paddy_ . . ." he growled, as he turned to greet his friend. Ryan looked like hell with a hangover, blood spattered on his clothes, and his face wan with fatigue. "One of these days, I'm gonna break a clutch plate over your head. Didn't your mom ever teach you about _timing__?"_

_"__Timing?__"_ He scratched his chin. "Well, seems Mother Ryan _did _mention something like that, once when I burst into her bedroom unannounced. I dunno. Been a long time, and the whole event left me kind of traumatized . . ."

"That cinches it. Going back as long as I've known you, you've proven it time and time again; your timing is lousy," said Dayton.

"My timing is _impeccable,_ if what I heard is true," Ryan returned with a wide grin. "You brought ambrosa? _Man_, I could use a drink!"

"Go!" Dayton pointed to the shuttle. "Dietra will be looking for you."

"But does she have ambrosa, Mark?" Ryan returned, pausing to kiss Cassie on the cheek. "I know he's not much to look at, sweetheart, and he snores, and talks funny— which he can't help, having been raised in so barbarous a country—and he probably doesn't deserve you, but all told, he's really not such a bad guy once you get past how he drops his vowels."

"_Go_!" Dayton reminded him, chuckling at the familiar gibes, and honestly just relieved that Paddy was in his usual form, considering he'd had surgery not that many hours ago. Like all of them who'd survived thirty years of torment, Ryan was as tough as nails, and the significant Colonial medical advances didn't hurt either. He watched his friend go, detecting the weariness in his usually spry step. He'd tell him later that Baker had been shot, but was recovering in the _Endeavour_'s Life Station. Or Dietra would. He turned back to Cassiopeia, letting her smile of happiness wash over him like holy water. "Hello, Beautiful."

"Hello, Handsome," she murmured, stepping into his embrace once more.

"Hey, I like the sound of that. Now, where were we?"

"I believe I was about to say, I love you."

"Oh, that's right." He looked towards Ryan once more. "There was some . . . interference on the line, wasn't there."

Cassie giggled.

"I love _you_," he murmured, caught up in the excitement of the moment . . . right up until an image of Yvonne managed to superimpose itself right over his ladylove's face. _You're already married, idiot. _He sniffed in self-deprecation, realizing that even being separated by light yahrens or dimensions didn't dissolve his invisible bonds of holy matrimony. When he'd said "I do" to Yvonne, he'd meant forever. Now, thirty years later, he couldn't just ignore a vow he'd made on Earth. Still, he was as much flesh and blood as the next guy, and he'd certainly jumped wholeheartedly into a relationship with this beautiful, intelligent and unique woman. But until he found out what had happened to his wife, he couldn't take that final step . . . He sighed. "_Cassiopeia_ . . ."

She smiled then, soberly and knowingly. "I thought for a moment that you'd forgotten," she mused. "But that's the thing about you, Mark Dayton. In matters of the heart . . . a lady always knows where she stands."

He didn't exactly like the way that sounded. "Uh . . ."

Cassie smirked, letting him squirm for a moment. "I know you love me. I never doubted that. But I also know that you're the kind of man who commits for life, whether it be to you wife, your friends, or to your career." She leaned forward, kissing him slow and sensuously. "While that might scare some women . . . I find it curiously reassuring."

"I'm not sure what to say . . ." he replied haltingly. "I just can't . . ."

"I know," she nodded. "And I commend you for it. You need to know what happened to your family, Mark. Maybe, when we finally get to Earth, one day you'll find out."

"And where will you be?" he whispered.

"Right there with you," she replied, pragmatically. "If you want me there."

He nodded slowly. A lot could happen in thirty years. And as far as his wife back on Earth was concerned, he'd probably been killed in an accident on approach to the International Space Station back in 2010. All the same, he had to know for sure. Cassiopeia was trying to tell him that she was content with her lot in life, and that it truly didn't matter to her if he was ready to marry her or not. He wondered fleetingly if it had something to do with her socialator background, or if she was actually the only woman in the known universe that wasn't bound and determined to be walked down the aisle. "I want you with me, Cassie. I know that I can't offer you much right now. . ."

"That's where you're wrong, Mark," she smiled, squeezing him tightly. "I have all I need right here."

----------

"Are you well, Starbuck?" The tone of voice was . . . worried.

"I'm alright, Mal. Just fine."

"Are you certain?" Malus focused his sensors on the pilot. "Although your human life signs indicate nothing irregular, you appear rather tattered and . . ." the IL trailed off, apparently detecting something amiss that he didn't know how to verbalise.  
"I'm fine, Mal," Starbuck repeated wearily, as Lia shrugged free to head towards an anxious-looking Jolly. The jovial pilot was just the support that his sister-in-law needed right now. He sighed, while Luana wrapped both arms around him as they came to a stop. "Good job up there. I hear you worked some of your usual cybernetic magic, even winning over Dayton . . ."

"Not magic, Starbuck. I merely used the available data to the best of my abilities, correlating both the . . ."

"I _know_, Mal," Starbuck waved a hand dismissively. He needed to talk to Dayton and Apollo alone, filling them in on what Ama had shown him on Earth. Lords, he was so tired, he was ready to drop, but his mind felt like a fusion reactor about to blow. "How about you put it all in a concise report, and fire it off to me? I need to touch base with Dayton and Apollo right now." He blinked a couple times as he realized that Boxey was in his best friend's arms. Somewhere along the way, he'd missed something . . .

"I see," Malus replied, almost forlornly. "Are you not even going to enquire as to my well-being? After all, I _was_ shot." The IL was silent a moment. "Perhaps Mendax was right. Are you just using me, Starbuck? Am I just another cybernetic daggit to you? I thought you were my friend."

"Sagan's sake, Mal, you sound like a jealous woman. Did you blow a diode up there?" the strike captain replied irritably.

"_Starbuck_!"

Lu used that tone of voice that was supposed to make him think twice. It didn't always work, however. "What?"

"A jealous woman!" Malus replied indignantly. "Why would I be jealous? I devote my entire existence to you, changing my allegiances and putting myself at considerable risk, only to be taken advantage of. Your wife, your choice of life mate, wasn't even willing to remain with you when you were unconscious, instead following her duty instead of her heart . . ."

"Whoa! This is getting _weird_, Mal," Starbuck stopped him, running a hand over his jaw, feeling a bristly growth that indicated just how long it had been since he'd enjoyed the relative comforts of the _Endeavour_.

"I am merely confessing my feelings to you, Starbuck," the IL replied. "Is that not what humans do, as part of their interpersonal dynamics?"

"In therapy, maybe . . ." Starbuck murmured.

"Go on, Malus, tell Starbuck how you feel," Lu encouraged him. "I really think he needs to understand how . . . _deeply_ your devotion runs."

"What the fra . . .?" Starbuck stuttered, stepping away from his wife and looking at her incredulously. He looked between the two of them, feeling like he'd been somehow set up. "Lu?"

"Just listen," she said softly and compassionately, as she patted Malus on the arm. "Go on, Mal."

"You realize that neither of you are playing with a full deck, don't you?" Starbuck shook his head, almost afraid of what Malus was about to say. How long had everyone been telling him that the way Malus followed him around like a lost daggit, attending to his every whim, just wasn't right? He'd chosen to ignore it, rather than to deal with it. Then again, it hadn't exactly bothered him to have his own personal assistant, especially knowing that Malus' specialized knowledge and abilities could make short work of so many menial tasks that would take him considerably longer.

"I would very much _like_ to play with you, Starbuck," Malus replied, his lights sparkling wildly.

Starbuck's mouth went dry. "Come again?"

"I think he meant _cards_, Starbuck," Luana smirked. "Didn't you, Mal?"

"Yes, I did," Malus replied. "I wish to be treated as your friend, Starbuck. That is all I ask. With the same deference as Commander Dayton and Colonel Apollo. To be thought of as more than a collection of mechanical and electronic assemblies. I have a fondness and allegiance to you that I truly cannot express or define sufficiently . . . especially when you wave me aside like a nuisance, making me wonder if I would have been better off shutting myself down back on Planet 'P'."

"Uh . . ."

"I think you've hurt Malus' feelings, Starbuck," Luana pointed out. She looked like she was enjoying this.

"His _feelings_ . . ." Starbuck murmured.

"If you leave me out in the rain, do I not rust?" Malus asked.

Starbuck blinked, then shook his head in bewilderment. "You lost me, Mal. What the frack are you talking about? Rust?"

"It's a parody of an Earth quote," the IL explained. "A famous poet from Commander Dayton's planet. William Shakespeare. He was discussing the commonalities of mankind despite. . ."

"_Earth_ . . ." Starbuck sighed, raking a hand through his hair as his thoughts returned to other matters. It took him a moment to realize that the IL had stopped prattling incessantly. "Mal, I'm really not up for this right now. I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but it's been a mong heap of a day, and I really need to tie up an especially important loose end."

"Will you not confide in me, either?" Malus asked dejectedly.

Starbuck closed his eyes briefly, rubbing at the pressure that was once again building behind his skull. "Mal, I swear I'm going to shut you down myself, if you don't drop it."

"_Starbuck_!" Lu warned him again.

"_This_ is how you repay my allegiance . . ." Malus complained, turning to leave.

Starbuck grabbed the IL by the shoulders, slamming both hands into his torso, shoving against him with all his strength. Alas, Malus only rocked slightly, before settling on his feet again. Still, Starbuck didn't break stride. "Listen, pal! I stuck my neck out when I talked Apollo and then Commander Adama into giving you a chance to prove yourself in the Fleet. My reputation and my career were on the line! The rest was up to you!" He paused, before he took a step back. The adrenaline rush already spent, he let out a long breath. Despite saving the Angylions and neutralising Count Iblis, he now knew their spontaneous plan to technologically prepare Earth for an inevitable invasion of Cylons had been effectively counteracted. More than ever he would need Malus to help them figure out how to manipulate Espridian technology to their advantage and get them to Earth. Not that he was necessarily just using the IL. He was actually fond of Malus and his peculiarities. Mal was a misfit, and to a certain extent, Starbuck remembered being in the same spot more than once in his life before he had formulated the winning personality that won over women, men and Cylons alike. "And you did it. You showed them all that your first allegiance—against all odds—was to _us_. That you could contribute a unique perspective and skill set that would benefit the Fleet."

"To benefit the Fleet," Malus echoed hollowly. "Is that the _only_ reason you did it?" Lords, the IL sounded like he'd just lost his best friend.

And that summed it all up. Possibly because of a programming glitch, entirely probable given its enormous complexity, this IL was just as insecure as most humans. "Damn it, Mal, I _like_ you!" Starbuck sighed, rubbing the bloody bandage that Apollo had quickly fashioned to his arm. "Not sure why though, especially right now . . ."

"You . . . you _like_ me?" the IL repeated.

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling as though he was dancing on eggshells as he tried to find the right words to appease and perhaps motivate the Cylon, when all he really wanted to do was to find a quiet bunk and collapse on it for a secton or two. Then it hit him. "And . . . I was thinking . . . maybe we should make it official."

"Official?" the IL asked expectantly.

"Are you in replay mode or something? Check your chips, this is really annoying, Mal." It just slipped out. Okay, maybe motivational speeches weren't his forte.

"I apologize for annoying you yet again." There was a noticeable hint of sarcasm in his tone. "Please continue."

"Mal . . ." he paused for effect. "We should apply for Colonial citizenship for you."

"Colonial . . . _citizenship_." The IL's optical scanners sped up, and his head went into super glitter mode. "Is that possible? Dare I hope?" Malus cried.

Starbuck grinned, as Lu nodded at him approvingly. "Hey, if I can get Dayton appointed as Earth Liaison Officer, and then promoted to a Colonial commander in charge of his own Base Ship, then having you registered as Colonial property . . . uh, I mean a Colonial citizen, should be relative child's play."

"I would very much like to be a . . . a Colonial citizen, Starbuck," Malus replied.

"I'm putting it at the top of my list, buddy."

"_Buddy_ . . ." the IL beamed.

Starbuck nodded, slapping the IL on the shoulder . . . making note that the impact kind of hurt. He turned to check on his commander's progress, while he waved a hand at Apollo to get his attention. His superior officers were clearly in celebration mode as they were reunited with those they cared most about. Once again, Starbuck's thoughts wandered back to his mystical journey to Earth with Ama. Dickins and Hummer were in some sort of isolated mountain fortress on Earth, held captive. All their attempts to warn their sister planet and prepare her for a Cylon invasion had been thwarted. As much as he hated to spoil a good party—and this had the makings of the event of the yahren—he really needed to let Dayton and Apollo in on the bad news.

----------

_  
I thought it was supposed to be me . . . _

Apollo couldn't quite understand how he'd ended up on the periphery of the final conflict with Count Iblis, as he listened to his son talk about how the supernatural Being had tried to lure him away, only to be interrupted by "Padster" Ryan. He met Sheba's eyes, seeing something familiar lurking in their depths.

"I thought it was . . . _personal_," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "I thought I would be more . . ." she shrugged, looking a little embarrassed, "critical. . ."

"So did I," Apollo returned, nodding as she looked at him in surprise. It made him wonder just _why_ he'd visualized the battle between good and evil with _him_ as the chosen defender of truth against Count Iblis. Pride? Hubris?

"You felt it too?" Sheba asked, reaching out and squeezing his hand as the boy stopped his recount of his run in with Diabolis.

Apollo nodded. "I was expecting some kind of rematch, I guess. I mean, after last time . . ."

"And I wanted to make up for the last time . . ." she murmured. "You know, when it was just Starbuck and I . . . and you were lying there . . ." She shivered as those memories drifted back, she and Starbuck standing next to the wrecked alien ship, Apollo dead at her feet, and Iblis grinning malignantly at them. "Iblis said, 'there will come another time, another place . . . and we will meet again.' I thought he was speaking to me . . . but . . ."

"He was speaking to Starbuck?" Apollo asked. That had to be it. Didn't Starbuck tell him once over a bottle of ambrosia and a deck of marked cards that Iblis had said something about them being soul mates? Then why did Apollo have this instinctive fear of Count Iblis getting anywhere _near _Sheba? Was it merely based on the past?

"Maybe he was," she replied. "Or maybe . . . maybe Starbuck and I were just representing humanity. Maybe Iblis didn't have any of us in mind for his next confrontation. Maybe it was already destined that he would confront Ama, John and Eirys. Or maybe it's random . . . I just don't know. I feel a bit like a leaf in a whirlwind."

"Or a vortex," Apollo nodded. "All I know for sure is that Count Iblis is gone." His gaze drifted to Starbuck as his friend approached them. "I'm not exactly sure how, but he _is_ gone. Right, Starbuck?"

"Seems that way," Starbuck frowned. "Gone, but not forgotten, huh?"

That grabbed Apollo's attention as his friend glanced over to where Dayton was embracing Cassie, before returning his gaze to Boxey. Starbuck had something on his mind . . .

"Hey, kid." Boxey looked up at him. "Is this some kind of homework assignment for extra marks? Infiltrate and stowaway on the Covert Operations Ship? You must have quite the reputation by now after Arcta . . ." Starbuck grinned. "We'll have to promote you from Junior Warrior to Spook, Second Class."

"Don't encourage him," Sheba muttered.

Boxey smirked.

"By the way, how are Luana and Lia doing, Starbuck?" Sheba asked him in concern. "After losing . . ."

"Ama?" Starbuck sighed, glancing back at Lu and Malus. He was as restless as a daggit on a sunspot. "I can't believe she's really gone . . . none of us want to believe it."

"I know," Apollo nodded soberly, counting off his friend's familiar gestures, waiting for it. Ah! There it was. The hand combing through his hair . . . Yeah, something was on Starbuck's mind, alright. "I admit I'm a bit lost about what happened after Ama started chanting spells."

"Well, the way I remember it we were a bit preoccupied fighting Cylons," Starbuck replied, meeting Apollo's eyes for a fleeting moment, before looking around the camp once again. "Thanks for the assist. My arms were about to fall off from swinging that sword. I thought I was going to end up sliced and diced."

"We thought you might need some backup," Sheba smiled.

"You thought right," Starbuck mused, glancing over to Dayton once again, before addressing Apollo. "Do you have a centon?"

"Of course," he replied, leaning over to kiss Sheba and idly muss his son's hair before falling in beside Starbuck. They headed towards Dayton. "What's on your mind, buddy?"

"What _isn't_ . . ." Starbuck returned, his hand running over his jaw. He looked done in, but they'd all been through a lot.

"Spit it out, Starbuck," Apollo said.

"How'd we get in this mess?" Starbuck mused quietly, letting out a deep breath and looking around at the Angylion landscape. Some of the damage done by the Cylons would take yahrens, maybe generations, to recover.

"Hey, the Angylions are free, the Cylons are eradicated in this dimension, and Iblis is gone. We _won_, Starbuck," Apollo reminded him. His friend met his gaze and the look of dismay in the blue eyes suddenly made the colonel wonder about the accuracy of that statement. "Didn't we?"

Starbuck's wan smile wasn't exactly reassuring. "I think we were outmanoeuvred sectars ago, Apollo. Right after Planet 'P'."

Apollo frowned, feeling his stomach plunge with Starbuck's words. "Care to explain that?"

"First we need to get Dayton's attention," Starbuck pointed at the Commander who was devoting all his attention at the moment to Cassiopeia. "_Yo, Dayton!_" he called loudly, turning a dozen heads.

Dayton looked almost annoyed as he glanced over. "It had better be good, _Tassimo_." Then he paused, looking his strike captain over critically before whispering in Cassie's ear, and heading over. "You okay, _Java Chip Frap_? You look like you've been to hell and back . . ."

"Near enough," Starbuck returned. "But here's the kicker. While I was there, Ama showed me something. On Earth."

"_What_?" Dayton gasped. In an instant, he was the serious, focused CO again. "Earth?"

"Try and keep up, Old Man . . ." Starbuck returned with a fond smile, before filling them both in on his bizarre journey to Earth, trying to add as much detail as he could to his vivid descriptions of Dickins and Hummer's place of incarceration, and the Base Ship bit by bit zeroing in on their sister planet.

Dayton turned away from them, shaking his head. He obviously recognized the place Starbuck had described. "Cheyenne Mountain. Son of a bitch, they'll never get out of that . . . _Shit, shit, shit_ . . ." he muttered, his hands gripped tightly at his sides. His body was taut with tension. "What does the President think he's doing . . . _Holy son of a__ . . ."_

"We have to get back to the Fleet and tell Commander Adama," Apollo told them. "On the double."

Starbuck nodded. "Yeah."

"_Damn_!" Dayton suddenly exploded. "I was imagining Dick back with Anna, not rotting in another cell . . . He'll flip out . . . it'll take him right back to Torg and Bex."

"So we find a way to get them out," Starbuck told him. "Dickins _and_ Hummer."

Dayton whirled on him, his anger and frustration at his present impotence was plain. "And just how do you think we're gonna do that, _Barista Breath_? They're light years away, and probably held captive by my own government!" He kicked a rock, which went sailing into a tree, before bouncing off into the scrub. "_Damn_! I can't believe this! Do those bureaucratic idiots have their heads halfway up their own asses? The modifications to the _Endeavour_ alone would have given them enough proof . . . " He let out a snarl of rage, slamming a fist into his palm. "If there's a signal being emitted from the Moon, surely to God our guys would pick that up and investigate! But they probably don't _want_ to see the truth! Or they're too busy forming committees to talk about it, or finding the way to save their bloody funding . . . _Idiots_! _Short-sighted goddamned idiots_!"

"Good to know _we _didn't corner the market on idiots . . ." Starbuck quipped in English, trying to dispel his commander's mood. It sounded as if the late President Adar would have fitted in well, on Earth.

Apollo shrugged, not understanding the foreign words. Ryan had been teaching Starbuck the odd phrase to throw at Dayton since they had settled into the Fleet. More often than not, he didn't _want_ to know what Starbuck said, since the commander's reaction swung from raucous laughter to chasing the strike captain with the closest weapon at hand.

Dayton snorted, nodding at the warrior to acknowledge the attempt. "You sound like a freakin' Canuck from Carrot Creek. You really have to work on that accent, _Drip Grind_."

"I'll put it on my 'to do' list," Starbuck returned. "Ama wouldn't have shown me, Dayton, if we couldn't do something about it. She wouldn't have bothered over the impossible. I _have_ to believe that. There's a Cylon Base Ship getting closer and closer to Earth. There has to be _some_ way . . ."

"The Clavis . . ." Dayton nodded, glancing over at the IL. "Can it take us all the way to Earth?"

"It brought the _Endeavour_ to Morlais," Apollo rationalized. "But I just don't know enough about it. We need to have a command meeting, and bring in Malus and Coxcoxtli as our experts to explore that possibility."

"_Quasi_ experts at best," Starbuck inserted. "Are you even sure we can get back home?"

"You have a strange idea of 'home'," Dayton smiled humourlessly. "I don't think anyone actually explored that technicality before committing to saving your ass, _Crema_." He reached over, squeezing Starbuck's shoulder, looking him in the eyes for a long moment. "Sorry. I . . . How are you really, kid?"

It came out of the blue, but Starbuck didn't flinch, holding the Earthman's gaze. "Nothing that a few Empyrean Ales and about a secton's worth of sleep won't cure," he replied steadily.

Apollo nodded. Wrung through the wringer and completely exhausted, there was no way Starbuck was feeding them a line. He'd gone into the depths of Hades Hole, and come back out whole. They all had.

"That's what I like to hear!" Dayton patted the strike captain on the cheek. "Then we need to say goodbye to the Angylions and get back to our ship. Round up our people, Captain. It's time to get a move on."

"Aye, sir," Starbuck replied with a nod, striding away.

----------

Finally.

At last.

It was time.

The ships were ready to go, and all that remained were the final farewells. Of those that had fought in space, there was some good news. Two of the Hybrids had been close enough when the Raiders exploded, that the shockwave had knocked out their avionics. They had just gone silent, but were intact, the pilots saved. The third . . . not so lucky.

Starbuck took one last look at the wasted landscape, pausing as the sun at last broke through the thick bank of grey clouds in the distance. Looking down across the plain, he saw the former site of the Base Ship, the vast open pit mine beyond it. Already, the pit was filling with water, as small streams flowed into it. Soon, it would be a placid lake, erasing the ugliness of the Cylon occupation, and already birds were making it home. He smiled faintly, pleased at the thought, as the sunlight touched his face. Even with a blustery breeze, after the previous gloom of Morlais, it felt like heaven.

"Next time you go planetside without orders, could you pick a more tropical climate?" Apollo teased him, stopping alongside. "Maybe a quiet sandy beach somewhere . . . without Cylons, Count Iblis and human sacrifices."

"It'd be _my_ luck that a hurricane would come up just as we were getting comfortable," Starbuck grinned. "Or a tsunami," he added, remembering what they told him had happened on Planet 'P'. No sooner had he been rescued from a watery grave and revived, then a tsunami had struck.

"Right," Apollo nodded with a grimace. "Whatever happened to the Starbuck Luck?"

"What are you talking about?" Starbuck chuckled. "There's barely a scratch on me this time around."

"Hmm, you might have a point," Apollo mused, pausing to watch Baltar and Eirys. They'd been having a long, and by the looks of it, serious conversation. Suddenly, Eirys stepped into Baltar's arms, and he pulled her close to him, before they shared a tender kiss. "Would ya look at that . . ."

"_Ohh_, I didn't want to see that! After all, I just ate rations, buddy, and they're hard enough to keep down on a good day," Starbuck replied, shielding his eyes from the sight. "Kind of weird seeing Baltar in that sort of light."

"Maybe not as weird as it was hearing he saved Baker's life on the _Harbinger_."

"Really?" Starbuck asked, risking a glance at the 'reformed' traitor once again. "I'm still not convinced, buddy . . . I can't let it go . . . _billions_ dead . . . "

"I know. Neither can I," Apollo replied. "Still, he came through for us. Surprisingly. We're all alive, thanks to him."

"I'm still waiting for that to blow up in our faces."

"Yeah," Apollo sniffed. "Baltar already told Dayton that he has every intention of returning to the Fleet. Back to the Prison Barge."

"And I have every intention of seeing that he gets there."

Apollo grinned. "Then I'll leave him in your capable hands, Captain."

Starbuck grimaced. "Sometimes I just don't know when to leave well enough alone, do I?"

"Just _sometimes_?" Apollo laughed, motioning over to where Prince Llewelyn was arriving, an arm around his brother, Glynn, supporting him. The elder of the Angylion princes was pale and shaky, but obviously determined to be present.

"We came to bid you farewell, my friends," Llewelyn announced. "I know not if it's likely our paths will cross again, but if you ever have need of us, and we can get there, we owe you a debt of gratitude."

"That we do," Glynn added with a smile, stepping away from his brother. "It's unfortunate you need to leave anon, we would have liked for you to stay for the coronation."

"Yes," Eirys swept over to join them, as Baltar quietly boarded the shuttle. "It's been ten years since King Byrne was gathered to his fathers, and laid to rest. The time has come to finally crown King Glynn."

"_Glynn_?" Llewelyn exclaimed in mock surprise. "But I am so much better looking."

"Notice he claimed not that he was better _suited_," returned Glynn with an easy smile.

"Well, that goes without saying, Oh My Brother," Llewelyn added, stepping forward towards Starbuck. "Fare thee well, Doublewalker. It hath been fascinating." He smiled.

"That's putting it mildly," Starbuck returned with a grin, glancing over to Eirys as Dayton and Ryan joined them. If anyone really understood, it would be the sorceress . . .

"Yes, Starbuck?" she asked, as if she knew there were questions burning a hole in his brain.

"Eirys," he took a breath. "What exactly did happen to Count Iblis?" All lightness and flippancy was gone. Starbuck was deadly serious. "Is he really . . . _gone_."

"From what I understand, he's trapped in another dimension, a place that he created to torment others when once before he used the powers of Oculus for his own selfish desires," she replied.

"Gotta love the irony of that," Dayton added, uncharacteristically quiet, only just hearing that one of his ancestors was a Keeper of the Oculus and a member of the Thirteenth Tribe of Kobol. It took a bit of adjusting to. "What about John and Ama? Are they trapped there too? Iblis' watchdogs?" He glanced at Starbuck.

"I believe the powers of the Oculus will confine Iblis. At least for the present. I will remain its Keeper, a tradition that apparently goes back much further than we first thought." She glanced at Dayton and smiled. He nodded at her, "As to John and Ama . . . I admit I do not understand what transpired after we were all transported back to the Holy Sanctum. I am but a novice in matters of arcane wisdom, when compared to them."

"Then . . . she's alive?" Starbuck asked tentatively. Hope burned in his eyes.

"A spirit like that will never die, Starbuck," Eirys replied. "She will live on in all of us."

"_Damn_ the spirit, I want to know about the _woman_!" he snapped, feeling all their eyes shift to him. He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face, realizing the connotation of his words. "Sorry . . . I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just . ."

"Don't worry, kid," Ryan slung an arm over the younger man's shoulders. "I'm more dialled in to people than spirits, too." He nodded at Eirys. "Except for the liquid sort, of course. What the kid wants to know is will we see her again? After all, we never recovered a body. Does her _body_ still live, or not?"

Starbuck nodded. That was exactly what was bothering him. Why was it so hard to get the words out?

"I wish I could give you an answer, Paddy-Ryan," Eirys sighed.

Starbuck looked up sharply at that, narrowing his eyes at the Sorceress. _Paddy-Ryan_? "Say again?"

She crossed to him, resting a hand lightly on his arm, her grey eyes regarding him warmly. "Have faith, Starbuck."

His heart fluttered in his chest as he stared at her in wonder. Could it be . . .?

"We'd better move out, people. Speed of heat, warp one," Dayton reminded them, motioning with a hand towards their ships. "Starbuck, if you take one more step towards that Hybrid, I'll tackle you where you're standing. You're riding on my shuttle. That's an order."

"But . . ."

"But nothing, _Go Juice_. Luana's already aboard and waiting for us. Jolly and Lia are taking the Hybrid back to Mother."

"Sounds like you have it all worked out," Starbuck mused, glancing back at Eirys as Apollo said his final farewells to Llewelyn and Glynn, and joined them.

"In my mind I do," Dayton replied with a wry smile, as he ushered them towards the transport. "All part of being in command. But I know you'll probably screw it up along the way."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Old Man," Starbuck returned with a chuckle.

"It's one hell of a team that we've put together," Dayton added, pausing outside the shuttle. "But we still have our work cut out for us."

"I'd mark it down as a successful shakedown cruise, on all levels," Apollo nodded. "Congratulations, Commander."

"Let's not celebrate _quite_ _yet_," Dayton returned, as Ryan caught up to them. "Especially having an idea of what lies ahead. Earth could make this mission look like a walk in the park."

"What could be worse than Count Iblis and a Cylon Base Ship ready to conquer a separate dimension?" Starbuck asked.

"A planet full of people who base their knowledge of the universe on what they see on the Sci Fi Channel." Ryan replied, stepping aboard.

"God help us," Dayton agreed.


	26. Epilogue

Epilogue

Starbuck entered his command code, and the hatch to the _Endeavour_'s Brig unlocked. Pushing the dense tylinium door aside, he nodded at Baltar to enter. The Betrayer of the Twelve Worlds of Mankind nodded cordially, and then proceeded down the lonely corridor without a word. He came to a stop within, turning in a circle as he looked around at the empty cells.

"I believe I preferred the accommodation on my former Base Star," Baltar frowned, referring to the time he had spent as a Cylon prisoner when Lucifer had picked him up from the planet that Adama had marooned him on. "The _Hades_-class ships were a little less . . . primitive."

"We didn't invest a lot of time or resources upgrading the Brig," Starbuck shrugged. His sidearm was still holstered on his hip, and there was no guard. It hadn't been necessary. Good to his word, Baltar had offered no resistance.

"I imagine not," Baltar replied.

"The decorators were busy on the _Rising Star_."

"No doubt, but I was thinking more in terms of the plumbing. Or lack thereof. Can I choose the cell of my liking?"

"As long as it has a lock."

Baltar turned and smiled. "Picky."

"I'm funny that way."

Baltar walked around the cells, as though he was simply a man apartment hunting, or out enjoying a stroll. Then again, he wouldn't be doing a lot of _strolling_ until he was delivered back to the Prison Barge.

"When do we . . . _travel_ back to our own dimension."

Starbuck glanced at his chrono. "About five centons. That should give you a chance to get settled in."

Baltar smiled sardonically, hoisting his small bag of toiletries. "_And_ to redecorate." He looked around a final time before nodding. "This one," he pointed at the cell in the middle.

Starbuck nodded, keying the entry. He stood aside as the condensed tylinium door slid open. "Any particular reason?"

"Why, I'll be the centre of attention, of course," Baltar returned, with a low chuckle.

Starbuck dropped his head as a fleeting smile lit his features, while Baltar stepped inside. In a matter of microns, he'd coded the door shut, and Baltar was sealed within.

"Do come and visit, won't you?" Baltar smiled, raising his eyebrows as a trace of his old superciliousness rose to the occasion. "I should have the drapes hung, by then."

"Right." It was all he could manage. As much as Starbuck, along with every other Colonial citizen, had every reason to hate this man, after all they had been through on Morlais, something about this just felt _wrong_. Still, duty was duty. He needed to retreat to his office. Maybe pour himself a stiff drink of Ryan's Asteroid Whiskey, and lose himself in the mounds of work piled around his desk. With a curt nod, he turned around heading down the corridor, and pausing at the hatch. He looked back one last time, startling as a bright light burst from Baltar's cell. It was without warning, and momentarily blinded him.

_Frack!_

He raced back down the corridor, blinking at the spots before his eyes, somehow not surprised to see Eirys standing in the cell holding the Oculus.

"Eirys! No!" he yelled, and she looked at him anxiously, putting her free arm around Baltar, even as Starbuck frantically began to key the door open. A frenzied incantation left her lips.

"Wait!" Baltar begged the sorceress, as a sparkling haze surrounded them. "No! No! Not like this!"

She paused, lips separated as she drew in a steadying breath. The shimmering field dissipated.

The cell door slid open, and Starbuck drew his weapon, stepping over the threshold. He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, as they looked at him expectantly.

"I _can't_ let you do this, Baltar . . ." His finger lightly caressed the trigger.

"Honestly, Starbuck," began Baltar, "I have not . . ."

"This wasn't Baltar's doing, Starbuck. It was mine, alone," the Angylion sorceress proclaimed.

"_Brig! This is the Bridge! We picked up an energy surge traceable to you. What's happening down there, Starbuck? Report_!" It was Dayton's voice on the comm. The comm metrons down the corridor.

"I gave them my word, my bond." Baltar took her hand, raising it to his lips and gently kissing it. "I can't go with you, Eirys." With a shake of his head, he reinforced his words.

"There is nothing for you in your own world, Baltar," she pleaded with him. "There is no redemption, only unforgiving shame and incarceration. I cannot bear to think of you so . . ." She glanced at Starbuck. "_Please_, Starbuck."

The strike captain drew in a deep breath, blowing another out at the unbelievable situation. Only a centar ago, they had all been celebrating victory! Now they were adversaries. What was he supposed to do? _Shoot _them? Idly, he switched his laser to stun, his mouth dry.

"The White Witch would never condone this!" Eirys averred. "Surely you know this!"

Hadn't Ama talked about Baltar's redemption? It had seemed to be a personal mission of hers, however unlikely. Was it really possible, or had Baltar merely managed to manoeuvre his way out of a lifetime sentence?

Baltar held up a hand, stepping in front of Eirys and shielding her slender form, his eyes blazing. "Don't you dare, Starbuck!" he hissed. "If you hurt a hair on her head, with my last dying breath, I'll personally tear you limb from limb!" He turned his back on Starbuck, cradling Eirys' head, his lips only millimetrons from her own as he tried to persuade her. "Go, my beloved. Return to Morlais. Forget me. I am not worth your concern."

"I cannot," she replied brokenly, a single tear trickling down her cheek. "I _cannot_!"

"_Starbuck!_ _Report!_ _We're about to energize, Captain! What the hell is going on_?"

Swallowing down the bitter taste of indecision, Starbuck glanced back at the comm. He lowered his laser, as he looked back at the would-be lovers, willing to risk anything for one another. You just couldn't fake that kind of desperation, and he knew it. "Go," he whispered hoarsely.

"I will not leave him!" Eirys returned adamantly.

"Then take him _with_ you," Starbuck replied, dropping his right arm innocuously at his side as he glanced at his chrono. "But go!"

They turned in surprise, still embracing.

"I don't . . . I don't know what to say . . ." Baltar faltered, regarding Starbuck in wide-eyed wonder.

"Goodbye?" Starbuck suggested, turning as he heard the Brig's main hatch begin to open. "_Now_!"

Eirys raised the Oculus once again as a string of Angylion incantations poured from her lips. The soft, shimmering light that surrounded them exploded, the force knocking Starbuck off his feet. He hit the deck hard, his weapon skittering across the surface as he smacked the back of his head against the wall. A blinding light seemed to suffuse him, and he covered his eyes under its assault.

Then the softest of touches stroked his face, as sparkling lights danced in front of his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision without success. The familiar sounds of the _Endeavour_'s engines were conspicuously absent, but a strange sense of lightness permeated his very existence.

"Ah, you make an old woman proud, Starbuck. You did the right thing. If Baltar had stayed, he would have grown bitter and resentful, but in Morlais, he will truly become the man that Eirys believes him to be."

"_Ama_?" he rasped, his chest hitching painfully with the sudden overwhelming relief and onslaught of associated feelings that her voice brought forth.

"I have you, son," she murmured.

Then he was in her embrace, his forehead resting against hers, and her very presence seemed to calm the tumultuous emotions that had been hanging over him like a harbinger of doom. A purification of the spirit, he could feel the horror and grief that he had intentionally stifled begin to lift. Finally, with a rasping breath, he raised his face to look in those familiar grey eyes. "We thought you were dead."

"Once or twice, I wished I was," she replied through her gap-toothed grin. She glanced upward, into an eternal brightness. "Yes, yes. I know. I told you I wouldn't be any good at your silly rules." Then she smiled at Starbuck. "Seems I need a little guidance from above for a little while. They actually called me an unrestrained spirit. Can you imagine? _Me_?"

"Lu and Lia . . . my father . . . "

"Don't worry. I've already visited them, son of my heart. They know I'm alright."

"But . . ."

"Don't fash yourself, Dear Heart. There are difficult times ahead, but we will prevail." She kissed him chastely, and then touched her forehead to his. "Tell Chameleon about your mother and the Thorn Forest. He needs to hear it, as much as _you_ need to tell it. Promise?"

"How did you know . . .?" Then he nodded at her knowing smile. "Ah."

"You'll tell him?"

He nodded, albeit reluctantly.

"I must go," she told him, smoothing the hair from his brow. "Take care of my girls."

"Always."

A golden aura of light surrounded her, shining more and more intensely until he had to shut his eyes and shield them from the blinding brilliance. Abruptly, the burning brightness abated.

"_Starbuck?_"

The voice seemed to come from kilometrons away, calling him back. Gradually, he became aware of the familiar hum of the _Endeavour'_s engines, the touch of hands upon him, and the murmur of voices.

"Starbuck?"

He opened his eyes, looking into the distressed face of his beautiful wife. Smiling, he raised a hand as she captured it in her own. Relief lit her features.

"What happened?"

Looking around, he could see Apollo was in the cell that had held Baltar for mere centons. It had to be a new record. Incarcerated for all of two centons before successfully escaping. Malus was standing behind Lu, looking down at him.

"Are you alright, Starbuck?" Malus asked. Naturally, the IL appeared to be sweeping the human with his sensors.

Starbuck started to nod, wincing as the back of his head began to throb. He ran a hand over the lump forming there. "Yeah, I . . . I think so."

"Oh, that cannot be good!" Malus exclaimed.

Apollo kneeled down beside him, his hands pushing aside Starbuck's, checking him for injuries. "Was it Eirys?"

"Yes," Starbuck nodded, adjusting his position as Apollo helped prop him up against the bulkhead.

"I _knew_ he'd try something like this . . ." Apollo growled. "His word is about as good as Iblis'. Frack!"

Starbuck opened his mouth, about to explain that it wasn't Baltar that had planned this escape, but Eirys. Then it suddenly occurred to him . . .

"Wait a centon, did we already . . . what did you call it? Energize? Are we back?"

Apollo nodded curtly. "The Clavis was already partway through the process when we picked up the energy surge. It was too late to stop it."

"Then Baltar's gone."

"Yeah," frowned Apollo. He stepped forward, moving down the corridor to the comm unit. "Commander, Apollo here. Baltar made good his escape. What are your orders?"

"_Is Starbuck okay_?" Dayton asked.

Apollo glanced at him, expectantly. Starbuck nodded. "He was unconscious when we found him, Commander. But he's okay now."

"_I'd go back for Baltar, Apollo, but Coxcoxtli is having some trouble with the Clavis. We'll get Malus to take a look and see if he can figure it out. For now, we'll rendezvous with the _Pegasus_, and then proceed back to the Fleet_. _You and Starbuck report to the War Room for a debriefing. I want to know how an unarmed sedentary bureautician got the drop on my strike captain_!"

Apollo winced, looking at Starbuck sympathetically, yet curiously. "Yes, sir. Apollo out."

Starbuck sighed, slowly climbing to his feet, using the wall to support him, as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Malus was there in an instant, taking his arm. "I'm alright, Mal." He took several deep breaths, as it passed.

"Of course you are, Starbuck." He kept a hand just above the warrior's elbow. "And I'm Miss Caprica of 7334."

"She looked better naked than you do," replied Starbuck, feeling another sharp blow to the back of his head. From his wife. He put a hand to his skull, wincing. "Not a _lot_ better, mind you . . ."

"Save it," Luana drawled, slipping an arm around him on the other side. "You know, with all those mines and caverns, Baltar could easily disappear in Morlais. We'd probably never find him, even if we did go back."

"Especially with a sorceress hiding him," Starbuck agreed, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Eirys had planned it just perfectly, as though she _knew_ that they had been about to leave. But that was impossible. Wasn't it?

He glanced upward, almost expecting to see a golden aura of light hanging over him, smiling a gap-toothed grin. Or a crystalline ball, with a tiny image of Baltar and Eirys embracing inside. Or . . . maybe twelve dancing fumarellos, a padded room, and a straight jacket with his name on it. He let out a breath, raking a hand through his hair, wondering how long it would take to fall out . . .

"C'mon, buddy," Apollo said. "Let's get this over with."

"Can't wait." All that was left to decide was whether to level with Apollo and Dayton about Baltar today . . . or tomorrow.

And the way he was feeling right now, tomorrow was looking good.

-----

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the Battlestars _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_, along with a salvaged and modified Cylon Base Ship, renamed _Endeavour_, lead a ragtag fugitive fleet on a lonely quest . . . a shining planet known as Earth.

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With thanks to Senmut, beta reader extraordinaire. Wouldn't have been half as much fun without you along for the ride, Sen. Thanks also to all the readers who have followed along, offering critiques and support alike.

Lisa Zaza


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